


Above The Water

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Intrigue, Multi, Plot Twists, Small Project, short-story - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7115632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoping to court the King's favour and all the benefits attached to an eventual success, Lord Stark sends his oldest son to King's Landing to take up a seat on the Small Council. Joining him is his lady wife and his younger siblings. His head-strong sister proves a handful from the onset and he can but wonder how she will survive court, even backed by Elia Martell, especially when Lyanna Stark insists on making the worst alliances she possibly can. If Brandon did not know any better he'd think she was trying to thwart him.</p><p>As for Lyanna, all she knows is that life at court can only grow more and more entertaining by the day as secrets come to light from the deepest recesses of the realm. And the strange banker forever near the King further incites her curiosity.</p><p>Or, the Starks are for once the ones with the power and the cost may well be too much to bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

* * *

“Don’t slouch,” the soft order came from her good-sister who still fanned herself as if the whole enclosure were the Dornish desert. “A man never finds a woman attractive if she stoops so.” As if Lyanna cared a whit for any of that. Men. They could find her as horrid as she found the lot of them. Her eyes glared towards Benjen whose innocent smile belied his earlier actions. “As for you, young man,” the woman went on, “I wish to hear no more accusations coming from your sister. Be on your best behaviour.”

Benjen pouted. “She started it.”

Presumably, Lady Elia did not care which one of them had started it, only that they quiet down and act as she’d taught them. “Do you know why we are going to King’s Landing?” she questioned, cutting through the stream of protests coming from Lyanna.

She stopped and sighed. “To strengthen our relationships with the crown,” she let them know once more. “Good a companion as my mother was to the Queen, she is unlikely to take you on if your savagery is not somewhat tames. Do you not wish to do us all proud?”

Certainly Lyanna did. But she could not understand why befriending Cersei Lannister was going to accomplish that. The girl was not the King’s daughter, after all, but just the child his current wife had brought with her from her previous marriage. “Can I not make friends with the Prince instead?”

Her question was met with an indulgent smile from the Dornishwoman. “Of course you may. But the Prince could well prefer the company of your brother or my own Lewyn.”

Lewyn who had been quiet up to that point looked at his lady mother with concern. They’d barely managed to haul him away from the library in time to set off on the road. Even now he looked more aggrieved at the loss of good reading material than at the thought of somehow letting the family down. “If he enjoys a good book, I am certain we shall get on fine.” And his accent maintained its vibrant quality as he spoke the words. Lyanna had oft wondered how much of it was pretence. He was too much around the crusty old maester and his awful habits, she surmised.

Nevertheless, she held off sharing her opinion that both her brothers were unfit for the job. Benjen was more interested in sleep, slovenly fool that he was, and Lewyn loved his books too much, a curious development and one she was thankful not to suffer from herself. At four and ten, she was sure to recognise the quality of good reading material, but she much preferred other activities besides.

As for Cersei Lannister, Lyanna was sure the girl was horrid. In her experience any one maiden with her reputation was a toad in nice silks. Admittedly, her vast experience dwindled down to a few folk tales and some old songs Old Nan used to sing to her before her presence became undesirable in the household.

“You and your books,” Lyanna muttered. “Is it that hard to come out in the sun every once in a while. You are so pale you’d think it was wax before us and not a man alive.”

“Children,” Elia admonished then all, despite her eyes being on Lyanna. At least she was subtle. With a huff, the wolf maiden turned her face away and hoped for the second time that day that the journey would not be much longer. Who cared if her brother wanted in on the King’s Council and who cared if father backed him on that decision? What she wanted to know was why she had to suffer for it?

Her gain, as far as Lyanna could see it, amounted to a piddling promise of exciting capitol life. Which to be fair could not be all that exciting. King’s Landing was nothing more than a huge gathering of mean creatures, congregating together in squalor. As far as she was concerned, Lyanna wished with all her might the Queen’s daughter loathed her. In fact, if Cersei proved amenable to an eventual friendship, Lyanna vowed she’d sneak cockroaches in the girl’s bed. That ought to solve the matter. And her brother could wash his hands of all those great plans he had. Father as well.

Gods, she was very near ready to run off and beg Ned for help. For some odd reason her family seemed to think that they needed the King’s favour. The Starks had lived well enough for thousands of years without any king’s favour. Only Aegon and his dragons had changed that and the dragons were all gone. What possible need could they have of someone like their King?

All the realm knew how he went about the back of a man who had called him friend. Everyone whispered of how he arranged for his death and then took his widow for a bride, being himself recently widowed. In other words, he was not to be trusted in an alliance. And then there was the matter of his sister’s disappearance. Some said her bones lied somewhere beneath the Red Keep. He was a vile creature, searching to satisfy his own need before the needs of anyone else and he deserved little other than her contempt, which Lyanna was pleased to give. Him and his seed were nothing short of ire-inducing. And while she felt bad for the Queen and her children, a bleeding heart was not something to be put on display.

“She’s just upset because she’s no longer allowed to ride at rings,” Lewyn teased, sticking his tongue out.

The little toad. She would have answered, but that required actually breaking the silence which she’d forced herself into. She heard Benjen make a reply, something to the effects that she would not be long deterred and then little else as the wheelhouse gave a mighty shake, sending her spiralling forth, her knees hitting the ground. Pain lacerated through her knees.

From without the shouts of men trickled to her ears and only when the door of the poor wooden structure was nearly torn away did she realise what was going on.

It was an ambush.

“Look what we’ve got here,” a thick raspy voice filled her ears and an unpleasant odour blocked her nostrils. She rolled back for fear of being snagged and from her vantage point she noted soon enough that the man had eyes for her good-sister. “Those are some nice rings, lady.” His ugly grin turned Lyanna’s stomach. “Tell you what, you give me those and I’ll leave the babes alone.”

Seeing as the brute was occupied robbing Elia of her possessions, Lyanna slid a hand beneath the nearest bench, searching for the hunting knife she’d hidden away. Her fingers curled around the handle and she pulled it out slowly, listening to the voice of the thief.

“What a pretty thing you are. Your maid servant too.” She scowled at him. “How about a kiss from each of you.” Seeing as he had his weapon in hand and his beady eyes fixed her poor good-sister, Lyanna refrained from answering even as Elia nodded, pushing Lewyn further away from the man,

“One kiss from me and you leave us be,” she told him, the iron beneath her voice not to be mistaken.

“We’ll see,” their assailant responded, beckoning her. Lyanna inched closer, waiting until his lips had touched Elia’s and he savaged the victim. Knowing fully well that he’d turn to her, she prepared herself for when he pushed her good-sister back. “Now you,” he growled.

Victory close at hand, Lyanna leaned in and pouted. When he came closer, with the speed of a viper she slashed her knife at him, managing to cut his cheek. The victory was short-lived as the stunned man ignited with ire. “You little whore. I’ll show you!” he cried out, fist flying out. Only this time she was not quick enough to escape. he caught her shoulder and sent her hurtling backwards. The knife fell into his hand and he threw it over his shoulder.

“Leave her!” Elia jumped in her defence, interposing between them. “You have what you came for.”

But he was not listening. Instead he climbed into the wheelhouse and might have even attacked if he’d not been pulled back, a strong fist rammed into his face. Another head poked it. But this face, unlike the first, inspired quite another sentiment. “I believe this belongs to one of you,” he held the hunting knife handle-first towards them.

On any other day Lyanna would have jumped and taken it. Still under the effects of the hit, however, she could only weakly reach out. And to herself she admitted, quietly, that the man’s blue hair was nothing short of shocking. Elia took the knife from the stranger and thanked him. And just as soon he was gone. Her good-sister turned around and knelt beside her. “Does it hurt badly?”

Lyanna shook her head, In fact, she was starting to feel better. “What is going on out there?” From the door left ajar she could see men fighting, swords crashing and knights running about. “Where is Brandon?” He was supposed to protect them.

“Never you mind that,” Elia distracted her. “Your brother is fine, I am sure of it. But you must stay here.”

It was not as if she desired another punch to her person. Lyanna crawled away from the woman and pushed the door slightly. “I’m only going to look,” she assured the protesting mother of her nephew.

But any such plan of only looking was swiftly crushed when she caught sight of Brandon overthrown from his horse by two of those despicable creatures. Pure instinct pushed her into action. Lyanna jumped out of the wheelhouse amid yells and cries. A moment later Benjen landed beside her. He pointed out towards a horse running towards them. They’d done such tricks before. Lyanna nodded at him.

With deft movements, she caught the beast’s reins and jumped upon its back, working to redirect the obstinate animal. Once she finally managed to gain control of the creature, she slowed it down and turned around towards Benjen who climbed on beside her. Being that he was not a man fully grown the saddle almost fit them.

“Broken lance straight ahead,” he informed, already leaning to the side as she drove the horse forth. He caught the shaft in one hand and pulled it out of the corpse which had made its home. The recalcitrant animal continued to run forth however, no doubt in search of its former master. She pulled on the reins. “Another one,” Benjen let her know, this time picking up an unbroken one. He handed her the one which had snapped in two.

A man came running towards them, weapon held out. Her brother simply threw his lance straight into the enemy’s chest. It pierced him through, coming out on the other side. The horse jumped over the falling adversary and Lyanna raised her own mutilated weapon as she saw a man standing over her brother, his sword at the ready.

Not having half of Benjen’s accuracy, she dearly hoped she would not miss. The weapon flew out of her hands, heading towards the target. Lyanna held her breath and urged the horse on. Her eyes grew wide and time came to a standstill. It was as if the whole world had frozen all at once, sound ceasing, movement coming to a halt.

And then reality exploded all around her, Benjen’s anguished cry filling her ears. She looked down only to see an arrow lodged into his leg. And fright stole over her when she noticed that her attack had been deflected by a gruesome character with a wide grin. He was soaked in blood from head to tow and he’d assumed a strange stance.

“What is this I see?” he called out over the lively sound of the battlefield. “A maiden fair come to our gathering?”

Taking advantage of her distraction, one of the enemies took hold of the horse’s reins and Benjen was swiftly pulled away. She cried out after her brother, but to no avail. Strong hands grabbed at her skirts, fingers twisting around her ankles. Her head whipped around as she kicked desperately. But all that managed to produce was the laughter of her enemies. Another set of arms molested her, pulling with insistence.

A sharp command came. “Don’t harm her. She’s mine.” She looked towards the source, half-hoping she was wrong in her suspicions. No such luck, the grinning horror was looking at her with undisguised hunger. Well, she was no bone for a dog to chew on.

So Lyanna did the only thing which came to mind. She turned to the closest person trying to get her off the horse and rammed her foot into his face, then jumped away from the saddle and rolled a few feet. With some difficulty, on account of the fall having bruised her side, she clambered to her feet and started running, trying to grab hold of a weapon. Any weapon would do.

Straight ahead, a dead soldier clutched his sword. Hope surged to life within her. She pushed her body into a faster spring and just when she thought luck was on her side, her middle was suddenly forced into a firm iron-like embrace. “Caught you.”

Chills ran down her spine as she realised what was happening. Lyanna felt him turn her around and brought one knee up, hoping to catch him in some sensitive point. All that managed to do was knock her knee into his leg, which did not have the effect she envisioned.

“You want to play that game, do you?” And grinning still, he backhanded her across the face. Pain bloomed beneath her skin and she stumbled. He’d not hit as hard as the other man, but still it hurt. And this time there was no blue-haired angel at her side.

That was not to say she was not protected. Almost as soon as she’d been so heavily assaulted, she was taken by the shoulder and pushed behind an armour-clad giant. “Stooped to threatening maidens, I see.” It was the sneer in his voice which she enjoyed. Lyanna turned and ripped the sword out of the dead man’s hands. More at ease, she whirled around.

"Bloody bastard, always in my way." The outlaw gave Lyanna a warm look. "Wait but a moment, my fair one, and I shall have you back in my arms."

"I would rather catch my death of smallpox," she returned, brandishing her sword awkwardly.

"The lady has spoken," her second saviour murmured.

"So she has," another joined them. Lyanna looked over her shoulder. It was the blue-haired man. He had lost some of his bulk. Most likely it had been the clothing he'd worn giving that impression.

"Stay out of this, merchant," the one she stood with countered. "If you lose your head, we lose the Iron Bank, so let us take care of this."

"I have seen your skill," he reminded his interlocutor. "I am less than impressed. If you will, I find it my duty to aid."

And that seemed to be the end of it as the enemy jumped towards them, weapon slicing through empty air. The knight blocked the attack, his sword coming from the bottom up.

A lance broke the distance between her erstwhile saviour and the latest pest in her life, wounding the man's shoulder. It was clear to her that the hit had not been meant to kill.

Seeing as she was not actually needed, Lyanna returned to her original intention. She looked about for one of her brothers. To her great relief, the oldest of them was cutting a path across the battlefield. He sent her a sharp glare as he kicked one of his opponents away. Lyanna would have worried had she not been aware there was little he could do to her at the moment. In fact she was not at all certain he would be able to do something to her even after the whole matter was done with. So she began searching for Benjen.

Her younger brother had managed to crawl away in the confusion, one of Brandon's companions helping him along. She raised her arm in acknowledgement of them both. Benjen did the same while the man helping him nodded.

The fight seemed to have died down and the outlaws' were already beginning to cut their losses, leaving behind those unable to run. She heard a man call out to the grinning horror urging him to break the fight and retreat. And he seemed amenable enough to the idea as his sword flew out of hand.

"Until our next meeting," he took his leave of them, having the nerve to give Lyanna one last long look as he did so.

If she had not caused enough trouble for one day, for she was not under the illusion that she'd not contributed to the mayhem, she might have given him a few choice words for his trouble. Thus discouraged from further action, Lyanna simply bristled at him and held up the sword by way of promise. She might not have the prowess of the knight or the merchant, as the other had been called, but she could certainly take a few fingers away from the wretch.

The knight turned towards her, taking off his helmet. Unlike the merchant who had fought in what was in no one's mind appropriate garment, this man was clearly a warrior by call. "What in the name of the Seven is a girl doing in the middle of the fray?" he demanded, his hard stare not leaving her for even a moment.

It was a good question and one which her brother would likely repeat to her with a few added expletives, for flavour. What she had to do was think of a plausible answer which would not get her chained to her good-sister.


	2. When Danger Comes Aknocking

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elia wrapped her in a warm embrace, the dying words of an admonishment on her lips. It was just as well that she never managed to say anything for before long Lyanna was brutally snatched away from the woman’s arms and faced with her glowering older brother. The look on his face could make stones melt in fear. Lyanna being neither a stone, nor fearless, flinched and stepped back, even as her retreat was blocked by his powerful hand gripping her arm tightly.

“You stupid girl,” he ground out, shaking her. “What were you thinking? You could have been killed.” The fact that his eyes were roaming her face as he spoke put her more at ease. “You could have led Benjen to his death. Is there ever a time you think matters through?”

“But that’s not fair,” she complained, startled into action by the reminder. “I did not shoot the arrow.” Unfortunately for her, Brandon did not much care. “And we were only trying to help you.” It was not aught she should have spoken of. As a fellow member of House Stark, Lyanna had long since embraced the haughty ice-cold pride bred into the behaviour of any wolf. She should have know her brother would see any intervention as a slight.

“You can help by not getting yourself abused before every last one of my men,” he answered dryly, pushing her away from him. “What would you have done if the outlaw had succeeded in capturing you?” It was not a question he expected an answer to. Even Lyanna had gone silent at that. The fate of a captive maiden was not that much of a mystery. There were stories aplenty speaking of shame and pain.

Her brother turned to his lady wife and their son. He embraced the woman who was chiding him softly. “Do not be so harsh with her. She did what she thought best. Your sister has only the noblest of intentions.” But Brandon answered something back which rather sounded like disbelief. Elia chuckled. She looked at Lyanna over her husband’s shoulder and nodded that she ought to make her escape.

Grateful, Lyanna nodded back and entered the wheelhouse where her brother had been helped upon one of the benches. Benjen’s eyes opened softly and he smiled at the sight of her. “You look as if Brandon caught you.” He must have heard the whole thing. Lyanna flushed. “It hurts his pride to admit it yet, but I say he’ll thank us one day soon for what we’ve done.”

“I would not hold my breath if I were you,” she said. Her hunting knife was still on the floor. Lyanna picked it up and inspected the blade in the stream of light coming from without. “Do you know who those men were?”

“A band of outlaws,” her brother replied.

“Not them. The ones who helped us.” She had not even managed to get a name before her brother’s men dragged her away. It was most impolite. How was she expected to express her gratitude if she knew not even that much?

“Them?” Benjen sighed. “Apparently the private guard of a Braavosi merchant. They seem a strange lot, if you ask me, what with the insistence of some of them that they came just in time.” He grimaced down at his wounded leg. So the merchant was likely the leader of the company. What a strange thing, and the knight had mentioned that the merchant was important for some reason.

“At least they saved your neck. A man can go on with an injured leg. A cut throat is entirely different a matter.” She plopped down next to him gracelessly, wincing slightly as she felt the seam of her kirtle pull when she stepped upon the edge. “Is there naught else?”

“Aught like?” Her brother’s suspicious gaze arrested her for all of one heartbeat. A grin spread across his face. “I suppose there is. One would have to make mention that their intervention was not entirely altruistic. They have a couple of women with them as well. I suppose it was easier to aid us and not fight off an eventual attack of their own.”

Women, her brother said. Lyanna held back her disappointment and shrugged. “All the better. It’s good to have allies when one can.” As for those other woman, Benjen had not specified much, but she supposed they would meet soon. King’s Landing was still some way off and another day on the road was expected, where one added that the outlaws had stolen quite a few hours of light with their foolery.

The door creaked slightly as Lewyn clambered in and jumped on her lap without so much as a by your leave. “Mother said I was to sit here and let Benjen lie down on the other bench.” The explanation was followed by her good-sister poking her head in.

“Can you move on your own or should I call Brandon?” she asked Benjen, hand reached out to touch his arm.

“I can do it on my own,” her brother offered the assurance with a firm voice, struggling to his feet. It was to their great luck that the wheelhouse was not of the widest sort for after a few steps he stumbled on the other bench and Elia climbed in, arranging his legs comfortably before she sat down next to Lyanna. “What news?” Benjen continued, not missing a beat.

“Naught of concern,” the older woman replied, turning slightly in her seat to pat her son’s hair when he started squirming. “Lewyn, have some patience, we shall stop shortly to make camp. Brandon wants us to travel as far as we can, but the light is waning and even our new companions urge that we retreat into the forest.”

What they did do was travel for a few more hours, stopping as the sun dipped behind the horizon in a large clearing. In her haste to leave the wheelhouse, Lyanna nearly dumped poor Lewyn on the floor, jostling the child out of the slumber he’d fallen into. He came to with a yawn and simply crawled away to his mother’s arms, leaving Lyanna to face a frowning Benjen.

“Do you believe you could help me out before running off on your hunt?” he questioned.

“What hunt?” Elia asked absent-mindedly, standing as well to help the injured boy.

“No hunt,” she replied quickly, even as Benjen spoke over her.

“That man who pulled the thief away, she wishes to express her gratitude to him,” her brother teased.

Their good-sister froze. She looked at Lyanna and shook her head softly. “I suppose you cannot not thank him. But mind that you don’t stay long in his presence. Your brother would not approve.” Brandon would not approve of anything these days, Lyanna thought to herself, the notion turning her stomach sour.

“I am certain speaking to the man won’t compromise me. Not with the whole camp bearing witness.” And a fine thing that was too, for Lyanna had in truth only meant to find out more about those women. But she would be thanking her saviours as well.

“Lyanna,” Lewyn’s mother replied, scandalised. But then again, she too had contributed to putting it in her father’s and brother’s mind that she would be perfect means of sealing some prospective alliance in King’s Landing once she had kept company with the Queen’s daughter long enough. “Be quick about your task,” she shooed her away in the end.

Lyanna happily left Benjen to the other’s tender mercies and jumped out of the wheelhouse. She saw her brother had retreated with some of his men, no doubt to have their wound properly looked after, but the man caring for them Lyanna had not seen before. Supposing him to belong to their companions she walked past the group and stepped over the imaginary line dividing the clearing.

Her erstwhile saviour was sitting on a log, listening to a girl who looked to be around her own age. The brightness of her flaming hair cut open wounds against pale skin. She laughed at something he said in reply to her and discomfort crept upon Lyanna.

He chose that exact moment to look up. At the sight of her the glad smile upon his lips turned into a half-curious, half-welcoming gesture. He stood to his feet. “Decided to roam free, have you?” he asked, helping the woman at his side up as well and sending her away with a nod.

“That implies a degree of freedom I do not have,” she answered flatly before she could remind herself that she ought to express her gratitude, not insult the man. Shaking away the bitterness, Lyanna snapped to attention. “My apologies. I am behaving abominably. I only came to tell you how grateful I am for your intervention.”

“Not at all. This has been an eventful day.” He sat back down on his log and looked up at her as if expecting she would be joining him. She might have in truth, had it not been for her good-sister cutting in yet again.

Elia cleared her throat and appeared beside Lyanna. “It is not much,” she began, “but my good-sister and I thought you could do well with a prize.” She had brought along what Lyanna knew to be a flagon of pure Dornish goodness. Not that she would be allowed to taste it.

“I see.” It was the utter neutrality of his reply which took her by surprise. She looked at him sitting there and began wondering if she’d imagined his earlier smile. But nay, the smile was in place. Only the voice was off. Elia handed him a cup which he held in both hands, eyes going towards Lyanna.

She heard the gurgling of the wine flowing out of the flagon into the cup and her face reddened as he held her stare. She should have asked Elia to allow her to pour, but the chance had passed her by. Unable to do much beside stand there and lament the missed opportunity, Lyanna was fairly beginning to regret having asked to come to him. No doubt Brandon had finally taken notice of her straying far from his wife and sent the woman after her.

Once the cup was full, she watched him pull his hand away and raise the cup. “To your heath,” he toasted each of them in turn and drank the wine in one long gulp. “You need not have taken the trouble. Words would have sufficed.” He handed the cup back to Elia.

Spying movement from the corner of her eye, Lyanna turned her head around. With a determined motion, she took the cup and flagon from her good-sister and marched away towards a lone man leaning against a tree, surveying the encampment.

At her approach he straightened. “You deserve my gratitude as well, ser,” she said and pushed the cup into his hands, tilting the flagon so its content might spill over. “I would have surely died had it not been for you.” Or some worse fate, Lyanna told herself, pulling the flagon away.

The man looked down at the offering. “Every man here is deserving of your gratitude. We all fought shoulder to shoulder,” he pointed out, but did not hand the cup back. Instead he nodded at her and raised it to his lips, taking a sip.

“My brother would have my head if I dared go from man to man,” she murmured, not entirely aware that he heard every word. Thus his chuckle took her by surprise. “He truly would,” she insisted.

“Aye. Might be he would.” He placed the cup in her hands, still half full. “Best you return.” And so she ought to. She could feel Brandon glaring holes into the back of her head. Placing the cup on a flat stone nearby, she turned around and walked to Elia without another word.

Her good-sister took her by the hand, having walked a few steps ahead. “I am so sorry. I tried telling him you were doing perfectly fine on your own, but he wouldn’t listen.” She could hear the sincerity there, yet for the life of her Lyanna did not feel like reciprocating in kind.

“Then you ought too have walked slower,” she snapped hastily. “What is so objectionable about those poor men? They saved us. My brother ought to keep that in that thick head of his.”

“Don’t,” Elia warned. “It is sufficient that you know to keep away from them. You have delivered words of gratitude, it is enough. After all, they were acting within the scope of their respective roles. One needn’t thank knights for upholding their vows just as one needn’t thank servants for serving.” Her tone brooked no argument.

And yet Lyanna bristled at the words. Those men were not sworn to any of them, not even to her brother. They had no obligation to aid them. They had chosen to do so and the lack of acknowledgement on her good-sister’s part, as well as her own brother’s obstinacy were regrettable in light of that. Shaking the woman’s grip off of her arm she planted her heels firmly upon the ground. “Nay. Why is my brother truly afraid?”

Elia sighed and took hold of her hand once more. “Will you not give up this line of inquiry unless you are satisfied?” She shook her head, tugging her arm away tentatively for emphasis. “Than man I offered drink to, he is no mere merchant, but comes on the behalf of the Iron Bank. They are travelling to King’s Landing to negotiate terms with the King over a loan.” That hardly sounded fearsome. “Your brother fears the possibility that one of them might use their leverage to ask for a different sort of compensation than coin.”

Brandon might have struck her across the face, the earth might have crumbled beneath her feet, the skies might have rained down fire, all of that before she would have ever imagined that her brother could possibly entertain any such notions. She burst into peals on laughter, the pain of her amusement lacerating her middle as she tried to control herself. There was no possible way the merchant or the knight had even thought anything of the nature regarding her person and her brother was already worrying about having to call them out. It was cripplingly mind-numbing.

“Try to control yourself, Lyanna,” Elia prompted her, the vague exasperation underlying the words not lost on her. “You are a beautiful young woman. Your brother is right to worry. One never knows what dangers lie ahead.”

She managed to stifle her giggles long enough to experience a twinge of guilt. “That only happens in songs. When was the last you’ve heard of a maiden stolen away from her kin?” It was ludicrous, especially when she’d seen the one of the other women. “I tell you, we have naught to worry about with them.”

“Nonetheless you shall do as your brother says and keep close to Benjen. It is the least you can do after dragging him into danger as you have.” Lyanna nodded her head at the command. It was one thing to assume she was not in danger, and it was quite another to dare defy Brandon. He did not take well to defiance of great proportions and she had already pushed him so far in such short a time. Elia had the right of it in encouraging her away from his wrath, much as he disliked admitting it.

Her younger sibling threw her a questioning look as soon as she was near enough. Lyanna pursed her lips and shook her head, sitting down next to him with a small sound meant to express her hopelessness. He elbowed her. “I thought for a moment you were done for. He nearly went after you.”

“Then we should be glad Elia stepped in. Although, I still say his concern is misplaced. He actually thinks I am in danger.” There were times when she wished Brandon would be so taken with his lady wife that he forgot the rest of them. There was no such luck for her, despite a moment here and there presenting itself.

“You were abused twice in one day. Can you blame him?” And then there were times she wished Benjen was no so clear-headed in the most inopportune of moments. Her brother yawned and tapped her knee gently. “My head hurts.”

She was sure it did. Grudgingly, Lyanna stretched her legs out and allowed him to rest his head in her lap, massaging his scalp lightly. “I’ve not taught you well. Here I am facing a dilemma and you can but think of yourself.”

“Took an arrow for you today, sister mine. I am entitled to these few moments of selfishness and you had best show me gratitude.” He chortled at her response, which was to scratch him harder. Since her punishment earned her little by way of reaction, Lyanna continued on with her show of gratitude, vowing to herself that when she was faced with a similar situation she would jump into the arms of her enemies herself before allowing Benjen to do her any favours.

Eventually her brother’s breathing grew even, indicating that he’d left her for his realm of slumber. She raised his head and put a pillow beneath it, rising to her feet. Quietly, she went over to her brother’s men and indicated they should carry the sleeping pup to his tent. “I shall return in but a moment,” she assured them when one asked where she was off to. Her answer equating to a polite refusal for company seemed to make perfect sense for them as the only reply she received was to not wander off far. As if she’s be stupid enough to get herself lost. She just wanted a moment of peace and quiet.

Stepping behind one of the tall trees, she peered at the neighbouring camp. Whatever Brandon said, she was more than grateful to those two men who had saved her when they did not have to. It was very near to one of those songs her good-sister liked so well.

Somewhere ahead a branch cracked with movement. Lyanna tensed, head whipping around to stare straight into the darkness, the low firelight emanating from the camp not far-reaching enough. Curiosity, like a plague upon her, urged her forth; common sense called to halt her progress. Torn, Lyanna remained suspended between the two impulses until a shadow broke away from the blackness.

She cried out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the last update this week as far as I can tell. Tomorrow is actually my b-day, so I reckon I won't have the time or the disposition to write this and I still have a good few exams to put my study-cap on for. So i hope you've enjoyed the chapter and if you have questions or general commentary let me know.
> 
> Byebyebye!


	3. Unravel

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having had a number of suitors in the interest of forging one alliance or another, Lyanna was by no means a stranger to persistent attention. But even she had to express concern when the one paying her such a high compliment was covered in blood, stark raving mad and professing undying affection while pressing the tip of a sharpened knife to her midriff. She’d heard that love made lunatics of men, but she had yet to see such a literal adherence to the saying. The grinning horror had wrapped his fingers around her wrist, the vice grip not allow for the quick escape she wished for.

Fortunately for her, the man was a stupid as he was mad and twice as daring. The stillness of the shadows was disturbed a second time as the rest of his men joined him. He spoke, but only for her ears. “None of that. I have come to take you home.” If there was one thing Lyanna did not understand, than that had to be his fixation with her. He didn’t even know her name.

“I already have a home and it’s not with you,” she ground out as he pushed her towards the line of assailant. She was caught by heavy hands at which Lyanna had the strangest urge to roll her eyes. She had not taken her knife with her. But might be she hadn’t any need of it, after all. The thought came to her just as she was manipulated face to face with the lout who had stolen a kiss from her good-sister. Quick as a flash, she locked eyes upon the knife he had in his hand. And then her gaze drifted to the swelling flesh around his eye. She imagined that with proper lighting she’d be able to see a clear bruise.

Not think any farther than the knife, Lyanna simply balled her fingers in a tight fist and applied tender ministration to the wound. He howled out in pain and she grabbed at his wrist, forcing the knife from his hand. It dropped to the ground. Knowing better than to remain standing, especially as she heard shout coming from the camp, she dropped to her knees took hold of the plain weapon’s handle.

“You again?” someone called out with what Lyanna could only assume was exasperation. She did not dare allow herself to be distracted though as her enemy was joined by a companion of his. The willowy figure of a pretty woman graced Lyanna’s sight. Since she’d already managed to climb to her feet, she simply shook her head in warning at the two.

“At least she’s got spirit,” the female outlaw noted dryly, taking out a weapon of her own. It was a long knife, slightly curved. “Pity her mind is not up to match.” That taunt rankled.

“Spare me your poor attempt at conversation,” she snapped. “I’ve seen gutter rats with more eloquence.” She took a step back, jumping as she heard Brandon call out for her. That lummox, he would get her killed. Instinctively she turned her head around just long enough to see him engage the grinning horror in combat.

And then she was on the ground, wind knocked out of her. Pain erupted in her stomach and chest. She saw a flash of light coloured tresses before her eyes closed involuntarily. With a surge of strength she brought up the blade of her knife. The metal embedded into something soft. Both taller and heavier her assailant kept her immobile for all of two heartbeats before she could figure out what had gone on. Stunned eyes stared into hers, pain etched on unfamiliar features. For a brief moment she felt pity nip at her heels. Lyanna gave it a strong kicked and pushed against the other woman, forcing her to roll away. She took the knife with her, retreating into the shadows.

Any chance to press for advantage, however, was lost as she was grabbed by the hair and forced to her feet with a merciless tug. This time, the adversary had the good sense to now allow her any opportunities. Her brother took notice of her predicament about as soon as she opened her mouth in a silent scream, noting for the very first time that an expertly aimed rock was hurtling her way. He could not disengage from his fight however.

It missed her by a hairsbreadth, hitting instead the man behind her. He let out a curse and jostled her, but did not let go. Lyanna blinked once before she searched the low glow for her brother. But Brandon was still occupied, thus she could only rely on the help of others, which help was heading straight towards her. Holding back her relief for when the fight was one and she was released all in one piece, Lyanna held herself still.

“Hiding behind the skirts of a woman?” The merchant had arrived armed and looking as if he might enjoy a fight. His insult to her captor implied the same.

“This hellcat is no woman,” he answered back gruffly, warm breath against her ear. At least now she knew the man was not awfully tall. But he was thick, twice so her size, she reckoned. “Is she?” The question brushed past her ear, pushing her into a sea of confusion. She should think it was clear as day that she was a woman. Only too late did it occur to her the man simply wanted to insult the merchant back. The rough fingers grabbing at her, needless to say proved her point. She let out a squeal. The merchant’s eyes narrowed. Lyanna seethed, her flesh smarting from the inconsiderate treatment. “Oh, indeed, she is a woman.” She stomped her heel on his toes unthinkingly.

No sooner than he’d spoken that the distance between them was cut in half and something warm dripped upon her shoulder. Lyanna looked down, noting that something dark streaked an uneven pattern on her front. She only had time to spy the crimson tip of the weapon before she was grabbed, with more gentleness than before, and hauled away. She would not protest if he meant to keep her locked in his arms for a few moments as well. This prison of arms she was more than amenable to.

“This is a rather eventful day for you, my lady, is it not?” he questioned, leading the both of them away from those who were still knocking swords together. He left her at the edge of the skirmish with a knowing smile to which she could only respond with a nod.

It was the third time he had saved her and for some reason it seemed that wine was a paltry reward for such conduct. Not that there was anything wrong with giving the man Dornish wine once more, but she imagined he’d expect something more substantial. Lyanna caught sight of the knight who had offered to protect her earlier as well. She noted that the grinning horror had encountered some trouble with the man. If there was one undeniable fact than that had to be that both men could wield a sword. She craned her neck to get a better view but her path was blocked by an irate looking Brandon.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you well?” His worry seemed genuine enough to her ears. Lyanna awarded him her attention long enough to deny any injury. Other than her pride, she was well enough. “Here,” he said, placing into her hands his own knife. “Go back to our camp. Keep safe.”

From behind the tree line another wave of assailant came. She did not wait another moment before taking to her feet. Her entrance was noted by Elia who had gathered together with the other two women, Benjen sitting to her good-sister’s left. She beckoned Lyanna over and bade her to have a seat as well. “My heart stood when you cried out,” she said, inspecting her with utmost care. “They have come back, haven’t they? Greedy pigs.”

She did not inform the woman that one of the outlaws seemed to have taken to her. In fact, the she-wolf was certain that hearing that would send the older woman into an apoplexy fit. A nod would thus suffice. Instead she looked to the second woman from the merchant’s camp, the one she had not seen before. Unlike the redhead, this one was somewhat older and held herself stiffly. Silver-gold curls steamed down her back. Lyanna followed the line until she noted the woman had her hands pressed to her bulging middle.

Her shoulders fell instantly, the knowledge of what that meant holding her arrested for all of a few moments. “Greedy indeed,” she offered for lack of any better rejoinder. “They will be sorted out soon enough though, so we need not worry.”

Benjen’s hand fell upon her own, squeezing hers encouragingly. She wondered if he’d read her mind or some such nonsense. “Why would be worry?” he questioned. “They’ve only followed us all the way here, attacking twice in one day. Clearly, there is no reason to worry.”

“Such enemies should be felled where they stand,” the red haired girl said, holding something out to the other woman. It looked like mint leaves. “But your good-sister has the right of it. There is no need to worry. This time there will be no one to lead another attack.” There was an accent to be detected, emphasis a like out if place, despite the fact that her pronunciation was flawless. The blonde accepted the offering and put of leaf in her mouth, chewing upon it. Lyanna looked pointedly away. “And I think you were very brave, my lady, to fight them a second time.”

“I hardly had a choice. It was that or death.” Well, probably not death, but certainly an unpleasant outcome. Self-preservation was as good a motivator as any. Standing to her feet, Lyanna walked a few steps away, trying to determine if it had gone quiet or she was just imagining it. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Elia asked. “There is nothing.” She’d not left her position, but Lyanna could tell she was listening with just as much concentration.

The men left to guard them were standing at the ready.

“Exactly,” she pointed out. “It is much too quiet.” Despite telling herself that she was not worried, and most of all that she worried not for the merchant, Lyanna could feel her heart grow heavy with anxiety. The pregnant silence did not help matters. She bit down on her lower lip and tried to catch a glimpse of movement through the blackness. It took a few moment but in the end she spotted someone approaching. The knife in her hands was raised instantly.

Two men stepped out of the shadows. One was injured, limping alongside his helper. They were not Brandon’s. Lyanna relaxed. If they had returned, the rest ought not to be a long way off. Sure enough, a stream of soldier came behind the two. She saw her brother and without a second thought dropped her weapon, running to him. Brandon caught her just as she jumped upon him. “You took so long,” she complained, arms locked tightly around him. His only response was to scowl slightly. “Are they dead?”

“Most of them.” He placed her down on her feet. The grimace on his face remained in place. “What happened?” She realised what he was asking her, but she was just as lost as he.

“I do not know; I only saw them come out of the blackness.” They had somehow followed without being detected. Or they knew these lands so well they need only wait to plan another attack so soon. “Might be we should simply continue out journey. The stars are a good enough guide and you said that King’s Landing is not a long way off.” The though of spending another moment in such company as the current one was too much to bear.

Only it seemed that she would have to swallow her displeasure and even make ready some smiles for she was in the direct path of the merchant. And he strode towards her and Brandon, purposeful steps bringing him just shy of them.

"Rhaegar!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the very short chapter for today. I just discovered the most amazing little game and am currently head over heels, trying my best not to turn into a watering pot and admiring the amazing artwork. So, until next time, and all the usual stuff I say. Bye.


	4. A Moment's Worth

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna was rather hoping the earlier blood she’d felt surging to her cheeks hadn’t left her a purple shade to speak for the feelings nestled in her breast. The pregnant woman was inspecting what looked to be a bleeding wound, the edge of her face sharp in the glow of the fire. She spoke in a tongue Lyanna did not recognise. Keeping her eyes upon the couple, her stomach churned at the soft smile the merchant, Rhaegar – her mind toyed with the name, was giving the woman.

He looked away, straight at Brandon. “Our sisters are not all that different, ser.” Turning back he replied something to the woman and pushed her hands away from his arm. “I expect ‘tis a woman thing.” He might have been addressing her brother, but he was eyeing her. If he was trying to tell her something, she was much too caught up in her own ruminations to realise. In fact, Lyanna was so filled with joy, her world had been reduced to one single notion.

“I expect ‘tis so,” her own brother answered, stepping slightly before her. She scowled at the back of his head and rose on his tiptoes to look over his shoulder. “We ought to move. Staying still only makes us a target for another attack.”

“Aye. I was about to suggest the same thing.” And with that, as if Brandon was not blocking his path intentionally, Rhaegar walked past him and stopped in front of Lyanna. “I think it best, my lady, that you have this.” He held something out towards her and Lyanna instinctively reached for it. She might have even wrapped her fingers around it had it not been for Brandon cutting in. The patter was becoming quite clear.

He snatched her prize away and glared. “You overstep,” the wolf warned, the growl in his voice an almost painful blow to Lyanna’s ears. She pursed her lips. It was only a thin sort of chain that she could make out. Not for wearing around one’s neck, but to hang items upon. “My sister is a lady.”

A benign, almost mocking smile appeared on the other’s face. “Ladies do not receive gifts here?” Whether it was the nature of men to be adversary in their approach of if it was simply that her brother’s brains had shrivelled during battle, Lyanna found herself wanting to strangle him for embarrassing her. “But they give gifts? I presume you know what the meaning of a gift is. What am I to infer, my lord?”

She might have expected a great deal of things from her brother, his reactions, well documented through endless hours of observation, were among them; what Lyanna did not expect was for anyone to leave Brandon speechless. She gulped, knowing from the look on her brother’s face that the conversation had been pushed too far. She was nothing short of relieved to know the woman was Rhaegar’s sister, but she fully confessed to not understanding anything further than that.

“You are to infer, merchant, that my blade cuts deep.” He removed his hand nonetheless and her fingers touched the offering, seizing it for her own before anyone could blink. The length of the thin chain unravelled. It was almost like a trinket. Why should her brother take offence at that? “The only reason I excuse it this once is for the service you have done me.”

“Had I known you were so difficult a man I should have never lifted a finger to it.” She was beginning to like the man more and more. It was not that men had never protested to Brandon’s treatment, it was just that they’d never done it with such impertinence. Her brother did need the occasional lesson. He eyed Lyanna who was still fumbling with the chain. The smile dancing in his gaze let her know that he was on to her. Not that she minded one whit. Instead her pretence of clumsiness was taken a notch further. He caught the chain length and wrapped it around her middle. “There, I consider this the show of gratitude afforded to me.” He pulled away to her great disappointment.

“You presume. I do not think I have to be explicit about what shall happen if you come this close to my sister again,” the young wolf ground out. How mortifying.

“Ser,” she protested, “he saved my life, a third time. And yours as well, apparently.” She really could not fathom what everyone was worrying about. So she simply took Rhaegar’s hand in her own and beamed up at him. “Regardless of my brother’s harsh speech, I am very grateful for the aid you have given us.” She let go. “And for the gift.”

He merely smiled back at her and retreated. His sister who had not left, and of whom Lyanna had not taken much notice after the reveal of her identity, was looking at them with a sharp gaze. She caught her brother by the arm and said something to him. His smile changed, just a tad. Lyanna’s heart leaped in her chest. His sister threw her a long look before a small grimace stole over her features. Lyanna carefully hardened her gaze. Whatever protests the woman had to her, she had best put them out loud so they could be demolished. But no such occurrence plagued them as the merchant and his sister retreated.

Throwing Brandon a hard stare after they had departed, Lyanna could not resist questioning him. “What is the matter with you?”

“With me?” he demanded. “What is the matter with you? What impression are you trying to give the world?”

“For accepting a gift?” She would have understood the reaction had she been, say, found in an embrace with the man or a kiss or some such sort. As the matter stood, her brother was being ludicrous.

“You do not understand politics. You never have. Stay away from him.” Why was no one explaining anything to her? How was she supposed to take it seriously?

“You have convinced yourself I am in such danger and yet when we were home, I was fain allowed to go riding with suitors. Explain why this is more dangerous.” Her demand earned her a sharp glare from her brother and his arm locked around her forearm, dragging her towards the wheelhouse. “If you do not, not only won’t I avoid the man. I’ll encourage him.”

“Do that, and I’ll pack you back faster than you can draw breath.” His warning was followed by a less than gentle push. Lyanna saw little recourse, thus climbed into the wheelhouse, falling on one of the benches with a snarl upon her lips. “And take that damned thing off.”

As if she was going to listen to him. When her good-sister made to assist her, Lyanna pressed her hands protectively over her middle. “It’s not fair,” she grumbled. “I did not do anything wrong.” Benjen snorted lightly, his shoulder pressing into hers gently. “I didn’t.”

“Regardless, Brandon will make a fuss,” he answered. “Indulge him.” One finger pressed into the back of her hand. A promise for a later explanation. Lyanna pouted, but since her brother would aid her, she decided that, for the moment, she could live with being parted from the gift.

Elia set to work, taking away her lovely belt. She placed it away, beneath her own bench. After that, there was no more sound in the wheelhouse. Lewyn was the first to fall to sleep, followed by his mother. Despite her own irksome sleepiness lulling her, Lyanna would not let it win. Instead she elbowed her brother gently. He elbowed her back. “A few more moments,” Benjen whispered.

The moments passed. Lyanna grew impatient. “They sleep. We can talk.” It was not as if Elia would spy on them. Her good-sister would certainly admonish them, but it was not within her to use subterfuge upon those close to her, with the exception of the occasional less than sincere response to her older brother’s inquiries.

“They think of a prospective alliance with House Lannister or House Baratheon. Brandon has already written and the agreement seems to have been that they would all meet at court so as to avoid anyone trying to dupe the others.” He grinned at her, an impish stretch if lips. “In other words, father is advancing our house once more.”

She was not angry by what her brother had revealed, nor joyful at the prospect; only saddened that her brother had not seen fit to tell her. “They wish me to hold close to Lady Cersei so I might impress her brother?”

“Could be.” Benjen patted her hand gently. “If you have no special regard for the man, do not encourage him. Brandon would be livid if you destroyed your chances over naught.”

Contemplating her brother’s words in silence, Lyanna attempted to wrest from her own tumultuous thoughts an answer. “But what if I do hold him in special regard?” In truth Lyanna did not delude herself that she might love her saviour, neither did she assure herself that there was aught more than attraction which served a bridge between them at the moment.

“Then watch his actions with great care.” Upon witnessing the undoubtedly visible crease of her brow. “You’ve his attention, that is clear, but mind the manner of it and discern where his interest lies. You cannot afford to treat this as you might a song.”

“I am not trying to,” she replied. “But you know, I cannot think of aught other than the coin which might recommend him.” A mercantile sentiment, to be sure, but Lyanna could guess that if she were to achieve her goal, hypothetically, the winnings had to outweigh the losses. And at any rate, the question of whether he was willing to part with a hefty sum for her had not yet been touched. “Now you have me considering wedding him. Gods, what a silly farce this is.”

“I am not the one who started this discussion,” Benjen pointed out with equanimity. “He saved you trice, did he not, and came after you upon his return and he even gave you a gift. I do not think a thought to an alliance is necessarily bad.” Nor was it good, was what he did not say. Lyanna nodded her head in understanding.

It was to be expected, at any rate. Her family wished to forge great alliances. For the moment, Rhaegar’s influence was tied to his trade and held little appeal. If, however, he gained favour at court or if his negotiations placed him at an advantage, the situation might well change. There was nothing for it but to keep herself a distant observer in the matter and when convenient step in.

“You might like Robert Baratheon or Jaime Lannister better than your merchant, so I say you rush to naught.” Her young brother winked, but his cast remained sympathetic all in all to her plight.

“He is not my merchant, and I can indeed not tell whether I should like the two men any better. If, however, I do not, know that I will play my cards to the best of my abilities.” He laughed quietly at the words and nodded.

“If you’ve need of mine own, I shall lend aid.” Her smile was his reward. Lyanna had always known she could count on Benjen in a manner different from all other brothers. While she would never hesitate to approach Ned or Brandon for aid, when the situation called for it, there were moments when she was uncomfortable doing so. “At the very least I shan’t catch my death of boredom in this manner.”

“Your care and consideration warm my heart.” She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “I expect we still have some hours,” she murmured, wondering how fast she could drift to sleep in the uncomfortable position, with Benjen leaning against her. If at all she could, it would be the most marvellous of things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You are being obstinate and just shy of obtuse,” his sister accused, hand resting on the proof of her increase. “Mother was right in not wishing you here.” He might have felt some sympathy for her had she not put the words so. Rhaegar scoffed. “The girl doesn’t even know the meaning of your actions.”

Shaena, who had until that point listened quietly to Shaera, held one had up in supplication. “She need not know of my brother’s every thought, but I trust she does know what he means. Otherwise, why would she have come to him? You judge too harshly.”

“I judge just right,” Shaera protested. “Women like her wed the lords and sers of the court for a reason. Don’t lose your head over her, Rhaegar. We can find much better home.” She was still sore that he’d rejected her husband’s sister, he suspected, but let it slide. Shaera was well-meaning, after all.

“It is of no concern to you what I choose to do, Shaera. You are here to take in the sights, are you not?” He turned his head towards his other sister. “She is a sweet girl, and I profess to finding her endearing, but don’t read more into it for the moment. I do not doubt her brother has brought her along for a purpose.”

Undeniably, he’d felt a low burn at the sight of her standing before him, a smile upon her face. The unexpected response had knocked him off balance. He’d thought that her conduct upon their first meeting was excusable due to peril, but to come to him after, well, that he could not explain away with such ease. And much of his suspicion was confirmed when her good-sister had arrived. Aye, whatever this Lyanna Stark did at court, he would watch with care, and if possible he’d gratify his own curiosity.

Fir the moment, his main concern was the King. Word had it that the man had left most of his affairs to his Lord Hand and his uncle had assured him the task would not be difficult to complete. Even so, Rhaegar expected to surpass the expectations placed upon him at his leaving. If at all possible, he would bring back terms to win much favour in his uncle’s eyes. That ought to help his mother as well.

“Well, I like her,” Shaena declared, pulling him from his thoughts. He started and looked at her only to find she was glaring at their sister. She turned towards him, flame-coloured locks swaying. “The Lord of Light has granted me the sentiment, I’ve no doubt, and I must insist upon it.”

Her Lord had also granted her a few visions which had come to naught. Rhaegar simply nodded, indulging her. “Shaera did not mean to put you out. Let us speak no more of the lady and see to other matters.” His sister pouted but let the matter go. He did not engage her any further, for fear of provoking an in-depth discussion on the matter of Lady Lyanna and his gift.

Rhaegar had meant to test the limits of the lord’s patience by his act; he’d not expected the maiden might go against him. That she had warmed him. A man who could not discern the meaning of the actions of those around him was undoubtedly a fool and the one unknowing of the meaning of his own actions twice so; what could one say of the one knowing of meaning, yet willing to risk much for simple gratifications?

The question had to be put; did he by any fashion want the girl? And if so, would he go as far as to court her affection? Impulse had long kept him alive and it had served him well; this very same impulse told him he did desire, but exactly what he could not say. It would be best to wait out these first waves and look upon the solid shores of his consciousness.

With slow movement, he lifted the curtain so he could peer without. There was no sight of the wheelhouse carrying the maiden and her kin; he had known there would not be. Rhaegar allowed the curtain to fall back in place and pushed away the slight dissatisfaction. He reminded himself that he had other matters to attend to and counted himself fortunate that the lord’s sister was an unknowing soul. Unknowing enough to flitter from one man to another, not guessing that rivalries had been born from less. The sting of remembrance gave him pause, only might be ‘twas not pain that he felt, certainly not agony, rather his blood hisses in warning at the image of his memory. She had grabbed the cup from her good-sister and marched with admirable determination to stand beneath the shade of the tree with the man-at-arms. He’d seen but the back of her and the knight’s face grow bold in amusement. He’d never been a graceful loser, which had taught him that wining should always be his objective.

And then she’d take the cup back from the man and placed it on a flat stone. Relief had flooded him. He knew well enough the reason and pushed it away from him for fear that he might be swayed to follow. Yet followed her he had not; not until she’d screamed from the darkness, giving him such a fright he was most certain she’d stolen a decade off of him. Springing into action, he’d followed the sound and saw her snared. But it had not been fear which had animated his hand. The more potent anger had quelled all other sentiments in its path until he’d held her close, safe from all violations.

But when he had returned, for just a moment, there had been a coldness to her. In that one moment, the blood in his veins had quietened enough for him to hear the beating of his heart. And then Shaera had jumped in. When he looked again, she was warm and friendlier yet than before.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Sweeter Sins Yet Wait

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gaemon’s rich golden curls became visible from behind the settee. Jaime made a shushing sound towards his sister whose grimace had yet to lift. “I wonder where he could be hiding? Have you no idea, Cersei?” At the decidedly unamused look on her face, he steeled himself and forced his mouth into opening once more. “Surely you must know, spending as much time with him as you do.”

But his sister neither wished to join their game, nor wished she to give off the impression of friendliness. “You know very well where the little rat is,” Cersei pointed out, the grim line of her lips losing its colour. Jaime could do little but shrug at her obstinacy and pretend he’d not heard.

Instead, he moved towards one of the tables and crawled beneath. “Not here,” he called out. Immediately a giggle could be heard from the other side of the room. He hid his own signs of amusement and made his way without. “Might be he’s behind the draperies,” he mused. Just as he moved to check, Cersei pushed past him and walked behind the settee, pulling little Gaemon with such force that the child actually cried out.

“You’ve ruined it,” the boy whined, tears already welling up in his eyes, small chin bobbing with the first wave of sorrow. He lashed out at Cersei, pushing his whole weight behind a slap that only landed across her leg. “Mean witch,” he sobbed, voice loud in the stillness of the chamber.

It would not go well if his septa walked in now. Despite his shock at his sister’s reaction, Jaime was at the child’s side in a moment, picking the boy up in his arms, trying to soothe him. “There now, no need for tears,” he murmured, thinking that not a few years past poor Tyrion was much the same. “You’re almost a man now and men don’t weep.” It took a fair bit of convincing to have the boy give up his howling and even that proved a tad dangerous with the door opening to admit the septa.

Her hawk-like eyes trained on the three of them. “What is this, then?”

“A bit of a scrape,” Jaime jumped in. “We took a tumble is all.” Surprisingly, Gaemon nodded, after lifting his face from Jaime’s shoulder. “There’s naught to fret over.” If only Cersei would keep such reactions to herself. She’d almost landed them in trouble, what with the King’s mood still as sour as milk gone bad.

“I trust that has been enough adventuring for the day. His Grace is to take his nap now.” The callous creature snatched the boy from his arms despite Gaemon’s protests. Jaime scowled at her, his height bringing him a head over her. Unfortunately, she met his gaze with a cold, hard stare. He backed down at long last, not knowing what to say to her. “The Queen wishes you to join her for supper. I shall come fetch you when it is time.” Aye, as if he and Cersei were parcels.

Might be they were though. Jaime fell back in a chair and weaved his fingers through his hair, tugging at the long strands. “Couldn’t you be kind to him just once?” he hissed at his twin whose lips had twisted even further.

“Why should I?” she demanded. “That little vermin; I see you only when the King wishes it and even then I cannot have my brother.” Her own eyes were filled with tears buy then. “He has out mother and the whole court at his feet. Why can’t I have my beloved brother?”

“You risk having both of us killed; that’s why,” he answered, hands falling to his lap at her approach. He would not allow himself to fall to her charms again. The last time they’d been in great luck with the timely interruption. She would not have the best of him a second time. “Stay there.” Cersei pouted. She inched closer. “Stay there, or so help me the Warrior, I’ll wring your neck.” His eyes met hers. Pleading she might be, but Jaime was determined that she would not, under any circumstances, land them in trouble. “Do not even think about it.”

With a sound of disgust, Cersei whirled around in a cloud of soft silks and Myrish lace. “What sort of man are you? Lord of your keep and you cannot even protect your sister.” It needled him that she would think so poorly of his attempts thus far. “I only asked that you convince the King to allow me back to Casterly Rock.” Be that as it might, he wished here to hell at the moment.

“I tried, Cersei. He would not have it. Mother could not convince him either.” Jaime stood to his feet and walked behind his sister. He embraced her hesitantly, and then fully when she did not draw away. “Give me time. I know I haven’t father’s shrewdness, but I can manage.”

“Well you’ve done up to this point,” she mocked, without any of the earlier bite. “I am tired of King’s Landing. I want to go home, Jaime. I miss out old life.” He missed it too, more than he could tell her, but the fact remained that father was dead and he was lord of a keep, with the King’s sword hanging above his neck. One small suspicion was enough to see him lifeless too. And Tyrion, the Seven bless the child, was nowhere near ready to take on the burden of lordship. “Please, brother. Please.”

“I try my best.” His embrace grew tighter for just a fraction of a heartbeat and then he released Cersei. She turned around and arranged her skirts. “One day, we shall be free of this. I promise.” It scared him to make promises. Father had promised he would return. Mother had promised she would never leave them. The King had promised that no repercussions would affect them despite the actions of Tywin Lannister. None of these promises had been seen through.

“We will never be free of him,” Cersei whispered. “Even now he weaves his web with his Spider and his council. You’ve not been here, but he means to threaten us by way of alliances. He’s bringing the great houses together to serve under him and you and I are to be his pawns.”

“Let him try, the Lion has sharp claws.” Only that he was no lion but a household, common born cat. “Let him drag here all the lords and ladies he likes.” It could not be worse than what he’d done up until that point, Jaime was certain. “Remember, we are Lannister and no one humiliates us.”

Except for the King when it struck his fancy. Jaime was not entirely certain the man did it out of spite. Half the time it seemed that boredom pushed him. For all that, it remained that within the man’s court, Jaime did not dare do much beside nod and smile and seemed a bit distracted. He could still recall the remnants of his father being brought back to Casterly Rock along with a summon. The fear of it had yet to leave it. He wondered if it ever would. The thought held him arrested for a few moments until he felt Cersei’s limbs wrap around him.

As if burned he pulled away. He couldn’t rightly tell what the King meant to do with them, but he would rather not compromise their chance of survival. “One day you shall thank me for this,” he said at the disappointed look on her face. “Trust me, Cersei.”

“I can trust you all I like,” she claimed after a few moments, “but you’ve yet to prove yourself. I think father’s blood must be weak in your veins for you to be thus.” The insult slammed into him, giving rise to his temper. Gritting his teeth against the rush, Jaime ordered himself to remain calm. “Aye, hide behind that innocent look and hope the King doesn’t decide to cut you down. You are craven. Sometimes I think ‘tis I who should wield a sword and you should be donning on pretty dresses.”

His hand shot out before he could stop it. Jaime did not slap her hard, but it was more than enough for her to recoil and look at him with a stung expression. “Don’t ever say such words to me.” The quiet tone seemed to give her pause. “If I ever hear you,” he trailed off, not knowing exactly what he would do. Father would have known. Alas, Cersei had the right of it, he was too much like mother to ever find the way. Joanna Lannister had preferred to give in to the King’s demands and hide her heavy heart from the rest of the world. And he must do the same if he wished to live.

“A craven and a stupid one at that,” she spat at him, turning on her heel and marching out the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aerys shifted in his seat, eyes going to his Lord Hand as the feast marked its beginning with a lay sung by a minstrel. He did not glance at the empty seat beside and tried to keep his thoughts from Joanna and her terrible moodiness. If a man was to ne vexed to death, he would rather it be the work of a mistress, not a bride of one’s own. Grumbling in dissatisfaction, he looked upon the collection of creatures that had gathered within his hall.

Lord Tully was presiding over a small group of men, boasting of something or another with Lord Arryn in a seat opposite his shaking his head. His Baratheon kin had yet to arrive, thus in their place sat another lord with his brood. And a lot of it there was. Between the man and his bride stood seven children. He scoffed. And he, who had tried until he thought he might puke with the effort, had barely managed one son. The Gods loved little better than to mock him.

Gaze sliding to the newest of his guests, Aerys stopped upon a young man, with flamboyant blue hair and a delightfully beautiful woman in each arm. He smiled at one of them, the one whose flaming hair had been tamed in a thick plait. The other was speaking though, her larger frame evident even with her sitting down. A pity both of them were sister to him. Aerys might have enjoyed the company of either one. Better than to have Joanna weeping softly at his approach.

He could not, for the life of him, understand her. He had made her his queen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and mother to his heir, and still, his nearness made her tears well up. He had explained to her in no uncertain term the faults of her deceased cousin, but he’d also made sure her and her children would not suffer for it. He might have taken them from her without a second thought, yet he hadn’t. Couldn’t the woman be grateful for his kindness? Or at least pretend.

Aerys had known she would not let go of Tywin’s memory with ease. He’d been willing to wait. He’d even been willing to keep from her bed after the vows were exchanged. And yet she, with her greed, had continued to look at him in contempt. As if he owed her something. As if his was the gain by marriage. He might have struck her for her impertinence. Had it been any other women he might have. But this was Joanna and, for some reason he could not fathom, the very thought of rising his hand to her in anger sat ill with him.

But one day, once he could no longer endure, he might take a hand to that haughty face of hers. See how she liked her dignity trampled upon. He sighed, his gaze focusing on the merchant once more. He noticed after a moment of silent observation that the man’s gaze had been attracted by something.

Following the trail, Aerys came upon the table of the Starks. Lord Stark had not come himself but instead had sent his firstborn. A strapping young man with a bold, daring gaze and a powerful name at court to help him along, Brandon Stark had already attracted a small gathering around him. But he suspected that was not what the merchant had been looking at. Moving along, he took notice of Lady Elia. Her mother’s daughter, the graceful woman laughed at something that was said to her. But it was the sit next to her, Aerys realised, that was the main focus of attention.

A far younger creature occupied the chair next to the Dornishwoman’s. Unlike her, this on e was busy with her food. Not that she was eating it, or aught, but she played with whatever she’d put on her plate, pushing it from one side to the other. She looked up after a moment, gaze clashing with the merchant’s. Since he could not make out her features turned as she was, Aerys supposed she started because of the contact.

He looked back at the merchant. A small smile had crossed the man’s lips, one part flirtation and two parts understanding. Gazing away from the two, he called Connington over. The man leaned in slightly. “The woman sitting by Elia Martell, she is Ser Stark’s sister, aye?” Connington nodded. “Tell Stark I will see him directly after the feast.” If the merchant could be kept amused for a little while he saw to gaining some coin, then all the better.

“Shall I tell him to bring the girl too?” Jon Connnington questioned, his own eyes inspecting Lord Stark’s daughter. From the look on his face, he seemed to find her lacking. But then again, to Connington all women were lacking. What an absurd thing, that he found other men charming. Aerys was much made glad that the man had the decency to keep such preferences under a tight lid.

“Nay. Not now.” He would have time to speak to the girl once he’d set terms with Stark. Best to try the front door before making for the window. “Be off with you then, Connington. Enjoy the wine and the company.”

“Your Majesty.” His Hand bowed and retreated, presumably going in search for some disgusting creature of his own kind.

Left with his thoughts once more, Aerys found the maiden and her merchant exchanging a few innocent looks before the man stood to his feet and helped the pregnant woman along. They moved to speak to Lord Rosby. The younger sister had kept her seat and was till sampling her soup with small spoonfuls. Aerys saw her tense suddenly. His body mirrored her rigidity. And then she looked up, strikingly deep eyes peering at him.

A haunting face took shape before his eyes, deep red washing into bright silver. He jumped to his feet without meaning to and was without before he knew what had happened.

Connington was within sight in mere moments. “Your Majesty.” The words were a question. Aerys shook his head and straightened himself. He needed a moment.

“I shall be in my solar,” he said at long last. “Bring Stark as swift as you can and let the hall know they are free to do as they wish. The King has retreated.” He did not wait for any manner of reply, but began for his solar, followed by the faithful Kingsguards. After occupying his seat, there was little for him to do but to wait for Stark.

Brandon stepped within the solar soon enough. If anything could be said of the man was the he was prompt. Lord Rickard’s son stood before him then, his mien a solid cast of vague machinations. “Your Majesty,” he offered, not by manner of greeting, but rather as a conscious effort to keep from posing questions. The restlessness he felt coming from the man was reason for relief.

“I could not help but wonder at the entourage you’ve brought,” Aerys said after a moment of needless silence. Truth be told, he enjoyed the other’s discomfort. “Your father did not mention there would be a wife and sister along.”

The young wolf cleared his throat. “My lord father wished that my sister see the court. I offered to bring her along so as to not burden anyone.” A lie if Aerys had ever heard one.

“He means to wed her,” he pointed out without batting an eyelash. “Joanna think she might do fair Jaime. Lord Baratheon thinks she will do for his son.” He eyes Brandon with a grave stare. “:What do you believe? To whom should your sister go?”

“To a worthy man,” he answered in kind. “Once I have made the acquaintance of Lord Lannister and Ser Robert, only then can I decide which one is worthier.” He breathed in slowly. “Forgive the impertinence,” he began but was swiftly interrupted by Aerys holding one hand up.

He pulled out a scroll and threw it the young man’s way. Brandon caught it and at his nod opened it. “By the gods,” he exhaled just a minute later. “Is this what I believe it is?”

“The debts of the nation,” Aerys confirmed. “The question one must pose, ser, is if House Stark is willing to show faith and do its duty.” Confusion poured from the man; it was almost palpable. “’Tis not much, just a show of good faith; a bit of aid.”

”In any manner that is possible, House Stark is willing to aid. Your Majesty needs but to say that words.” His cautiousness was followed by, “The terms will be agreed upon in the most amiable of manners.” As amiable as an anvil to the head, Aerys surmised, after he would hear what was required of him.

“Is that so?” The question was met with a shallow nod. “Let us discuss this in the light of day. We would not wish to give rise to suspicion.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol. So graduation and losing subs on the same day. I'm thinking Christmas is early this year. 
> 
> Anyway, I admit this has become some sort of sport for me. I sort of miss the time when these things mattered, when losing a sub or a bookmark yielded hours of contemplation. Now I'm just: "Oh, another one flew the coop. Better get to work on that new chapter." 
> 
> I would like to thank the internet for a thicker skin, or skull as matters stand. :))


	6. Splinters And Shards

 

 

 

 

 

 

“One finds there is so very little time to enjoy the good in life,” the King said, eyes moving across the embroidered tapestry behind Rhaegar. He had looked upon it for a few moments himself, admiring the leaping beasts for their grace and calculating how much coin the golden threads had cost. But it was very likely the King thought not of that. A grown man, almost old in his appearance, Aerys Targaryen kept a precarious seat, leaning forth in his chair.

In truth Rhaegar doubted the man was very old. He’d been near a child when he fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, as Rhaegar had heard it. But the wizened face before him would better go with a man advanced in age. “It would be unconscionable of me to complain, Your Majesty, as I’ve no great duties resting upon my shoulders.”

In the early morning light it was difficult to tell whether the man approved of such speech or not. And at any rate, Rhaegar’s head ached too hard for him to give a thought more to the matter. It was the wine at fault, he told himself. He’d been drinking without looking at his cup, too busy tailing the movements of Lyanna Stark. What a fool he was. A few days spent in her presence and he would be signing the likes of a forlorn lover.

“You’ve two sisters. That is duty enough,” the man scoffed. Rhaegar held back a smile at the sentiment. Oft it was that he heard it from other men. “No sane man would ask for more.” The stalling man would continue upon the topic, however, and Rhaegar was slightly confused at having been called before the monarch. By no means was he displeased, but he had thought he’d be dealing with the Lord Hand.

“Indeed, no man would. Any man would rather look to more important matters.” The King’s attention shifted upon him, the full power of his glare known to him. “If Your Majesty would be so kind, I should like our business to conclude without incident.” Best to not linger when it was not needed. Rhaegar noted the way the King paused, a speculative glance behind his light eyes.

“Is there someone you long to return to then? You’ve little time?” There was naught of censure in those questions, but rather of interest. Such a personal slant of it, however, effectively put Rhaegar on his guard before the speech had even been concluded.

“I’ve not the good fortune,” he replied cautiously. When one dealt with money, it was only to be expected that some clients would try various methods of making the transactions more difficult than they actually had to be. For himself, Rhaegar was happy to paste a slight smile on his face. “I wait still.” He added a sigh for effect.

“Then stay awhile longer and enjoy our hospitality. If there be no dependants, pray do not hasten your departure. What good could it possibly bring?” A different sort of smile bloomed upon the man’s face. “It might be that the gods have hidden the one you wait for within these very walls.”

A sentimental fool. Rhaegar’s grin widened. Those were the very best, unpredictable in their turns, generous and ill-informed on the matters of their spending; aye, he’d come to the right place. “Your Majesty, I hope ‘tis the truth.”

The cunning look upon the man’s face wavered but a moment. It seemed to Rhaegar that he might say more, but in the end, the King only nodded his head and then had his Lord Hand come in. Rhaegar stood to his feet and greeted the man. He had seen him at the feast, when he’d managed to part his gaze from Lyanna’s. Shaena had told him he was of House Connington. “My lord,” he greeted, neither harsh, nor soft in his approach.

Connington nodded back, the grim lines of his face refusing to unbend. He could not say whether the cast was his natural state or something had irked the man, but Rhaegar could predict there would be little talk of paying back the debt on this day. He knew well the dance of lies when he saw it. The Kingdoms were trying to buy time. What he had to decide was if the interest they offered was worth the wait. In the meantime, it seemed he would be well cared for in the embrace of the court.

“Your Majesty, I bring news from Lord Baratheon,” the newcomer said just as Rhaegar was allowed his leave by the King.

Pleased to be left to his own devices, Rhaegar availed himself of the opportunity and found his way into a maze of corridors, having since the previous night learned the way to the library. Might be he could study the lines and kinships of the realm and see who might be of use to him. With such in mind, Rhaegar reached for that quieter part of the keep. What he had not expected, however, was to be brought face to face with the object of his earlier contemplation within the very nearly sacrosanct realm of scrolls and ink stains. But there she was, standing before a shelf, balancing her whole weight on her tiptoes as she reached for a heavy tome stacked above-head.

Without thinking a moment on it, he approached from behind and reached for the object of her desire. The sudden closeness startled the maiden enough to let out a small sound, looking over her shoulder at him. “We meet again,” he said, his manner almost solemn.

“You mean to say you rescue me yet again. I do believe this is becoming a habit. One which I should break.” His smile faltered but a moment before he caught the notes of irony in her voice. “Are you certain you are not some unattached knight in search of service?”

“Only if it be your service, my lady,” he answered, deposition her prize in awaiting arms. He drew back, allowing her to escape the barless prison. She lingered, eyeing him with an almost-suspicion that was thrilling as it swirled in her gaze; only after did she place distance between them.

“Careful,” Lyanna warned, an uneasy smile curling her lips. “I cannot guarantee your safety if my brother should happen by.” On why he should be doing so, the maiden did not elaborate, but Rhaegar was certain it was an inevitable outcome where he to remain in her presence. He wished to stay even more. Mind going to the words of the King, he allowed himself the momentary pleasure of admiring a fine pair of eyes.

Squired by old dusty books, herself garbed in pale, washed-away colours, for some reason he could not fully grasp, she looked to him one of those rare creatures kept sequestered in fine chambers. But she was not that, he reminded himself sharply before his mind could conjure other, more dangerous depictions of his admiration. “I fear no blade my lady more than the sharp edge of your tongue, nor any cruelty more than your own.” Her eyes widened. “It is a song here, is it not?”

“I believe so.” She clutched the tome to her chest. “But I’ve little knowledge of such songs. In the North one is fortunate to hear the Bear and the Maiden Fair when the bannermen of one’s father have emptied the larder of wine.”

“I have not heard that song,” he admitted after a moment of confusion. “Do you know it well, my lady?” She blushed, ducking her head lightly.

“’Tis not a song one does sing for an audience,” his partner confessed with some difficulty. She moved away to a table and he followed, faithful shadow, too caught up in her reaction to mind the very real threat of remaining in her presence.

“Intriguing. I wish to hear it all the more then.” It had to be one of those songs so well loved for their artfully concealed meaning. Lyanna shook her head and sat down, nodding that he should do the same if he wished. Rhaegar did not hesitate. “What would it take to have you sing it to me?”

At that she laughed, throwing her head back. So free in her reaction, Rhaegar was much surprised of the ease with which she exposed herself. “Not for all the gold in Casterly Rock,” was her final answer. She cleared her throat. “That is what we say when we do not even mean to entertain a notion.”

“And there is much gold in Casterly Rock?” The maiden nodded at his question. “How much?” The Lords of the Rock belonged to House Lannister, he considered, and their wealth was a matter of speculation in the Cities. “An approximate, my lady. A score of carts filled with gold, a hundred, a thousand?” She gaped at him, amusement still raw. “Come, you must have something in mind.”

“How can I take your words seriously, when you propose exchanging a thousand carts of gold for a song?” She opened her tome and leafed through it, deliberately robbing him of her attention. Rhaegar looked down at the page as well, eyes landing upon the slender lines of a swan-like figure. The bright yellows had been bordered with a deep blue, red filigree bridging the space between figure and letter.

“What are you reading?” he questioned when she gazed at him once more. He could feel her eyes on him, even as he continued to admire the handiwork of whatever royal scribe or maester had seen to the perfecting of the page.

“’Tis not reading. I am searching for something,” Lyanna let him know, her voice soft, almost a whisper. She turned the page. On this there resided no figures, but the same filigree lettering occupied the space, the elegant twists of the quill having left a wealth of decoration behind.

“What?” Likely it would matter naught to him what she searched for, but if it kept her longer in that seat, he was willing to listen.

Lyanna stood and came around, turning the tome as she did so. She pointed to a line. “There, this is record of all marriages celebrated in the kingdoms. I am searching for my parents.” He was adept at reading the cursive Westron hands he’d seen thus far, but the elaborate style of the tome posed some trouble even as he looked to distinguish between the thin loops and the solid lines. His eyes fell to her wrist, delicate and thin. Breakable, he thought considering the force it would take to do it. Her index finger moved against the page, scrolling down along with her sight, he presumed. Her sleeve dragged slightly.

“Why?” He needed a distraction, something that would put him upon the right path, not have him thinking of the worldly and devastating effects of attraction. “Surely it makes no matter that needs attention when this marriage took place.”

“If I want the whole fortune of my sweet Benjen then it does.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear absently and flipped the pages backwards. Then she looked at him. “He had forty coppers. Most possibly filched from father’s poor guards. He’s a wicked hand at cards.” Lyanna snorted.

He shoulder almost brushed his as she shifted in her seat, attention drawing back to the blasted book. “Forty coppers,” he echoed. Did she consider that a fortune? He supposed it might seem such when one did not have any coin. “Surely you needn’t enter the bet.”

Lyanna waved her hand and chuckled softly. “Not so much for the coin. You’ve two sisters. Do not tell me proving them wrong is not an enjoyable past-time.” Pride, it seemed was the defining trait of this lady and the copious amounts did not draw clear lines. Once more she gazed at him, as if urging him to answer. Her smile flattened at his prolonged silence. Uncertainty crept behind her eyes. “Do you not?”

The same bothersome strand escaped its constraints and fell into her face. On instinct he lifted his hand and brushed it back, the tip fingers tracing the soft curve of her ear. Her lips parted in what he could only assume was choked surprise and her hand followed his, pushing the appendage away. But once her hand had touched his, the two remained suspended, skin brushing against skin. “I have saved you many a time thus far, maiden; do you presume I wish you harm?” He was not indignant, at least that was what he told himself.

“I would never presume to know any other mind but my own without solid evidence,” Lyanna answered, pulling her hand back. “What you mean me is of little consequence, is it not? What you do is on slightly more import.” Her fingers returned to grip his hand, pushing it downwards until it came to rest upon his knee. “Save me again.”

“How many times ought I saved you?” he whispered, more to himself than to her. It seemed that even without her meddlesome kin about, it seemed she would still play coy. “How many times would satisfy you? How long until you do not regard me with suspicion?”

“I am not suspicious of you,” she assured him, snapping Rhaegar out of his meditative state. Her hand had remained on his, the warmth of her skin seeping into his. “But I have known you, how long, a few days in all? Would I not be a fool to offer my world up on a silver platter for a couple of kind words? How would you look at me then?”

He’s not considered the matter thusly. Why had it not occurred to him that she might be trying to win her own game of cards, he wondered. “That is not an answer to my questions.” He turned his hand, palm facing heavenwards, his fingers covering her, the shadows hiding the fragile bond. “Answer me.”

“I cannot answer that,” the maiden confessed, this time leaning her shoulder against his fully. “It all depends on what you are willing to do to ensure one outcome or another.” A few more days in her presence and he would turn into a scorned lover. Rhaegar sighed. “Think about it this way,” she began, tugging her hand free of his, “any woman is good and wise to choose aught which will benefit her and her kin. I am only as free as there are options to choose from.”

“You are blunt.” She blushed violently. He’d not been making an accusation however. “But I would not know where to begin. I am here for the Iron Bank.” He offered a thin smile and stood from his seat, towering over her. “And you are here, as far as I’d heard, to further the position of your house.”

She stood as well, still remaining much in disadvantage. But he supposed her belligerence was to be admired nonetheless. “I think you are trying to lead me a merry dance. And I tell you now that won’t do. Might be you need some time to thin k this over.”

“Why would you assume I’d wish to give this a moment’s consideration?” She leaned in slightly, a mischievous look upon her face. He did not draw away, if only to see how far she was willing to go.

“Why, I am not the one seeking you out. Methinks this speaks of an interest already.” She had him there. Rhaegar blinked down at her. There was no point in denying that he had sought her out twice more than she had. “I thought Essos produced the best negotiators.” Her smile lingered on.

“Are you suggesting I buy a position at your King’s court, all for you, maiden? What makes you believe your worth is so high?” The questions did not seem to cow her, nor induce any sort of pity within her. They only steeled her resolve.

“It is not for me to sell myself to you. There are some clear advantages to be had, to be sure, but only you can decide whether I am worth the effort.” A shrewd one, he was forced to recognise a few moments later when she straightened. “My family has certain expectation, I am sure you understand, and in the kingdoms one woos the family as much as the maiden.”

“It is not that different in the Free Cities, although I confess, the wooing of the family falls second.” He was yet undecided. On the one hand, her fierce resistance only further engaging his interest. On the other hand, he had successfully avoided being settled down with obligations thus far, why risk it all on her, lovely face though she might have. “At the very least offer me some incentive.”

The maiden’s raised eyebrow gave him pause. She gestured to the vast open space. “You would have me take a risk with no manner of reciprocity. I won’t.” Still, as she moved towards one of the shelves, she beckoned him forth. Rhaegar followed in her footsteps until they stood behind a few good rows of painstakingly stacked books and scrolls. “What manner of incentive?” she whispered her question.

“Not much.” A thought came to him. “Say, a song, my lady.” His request was met with a decided shake of the head. What could possibly be that scandalous about a song? “If you refuse, I shall be forced to ask for something even more impertinent.”

She hesitated and he almost thought she might give in. “I am certain you may well think of something more impertinent, but since you’ve no knowledge of what the song entails, I will take the risk.”

The best cure, he decided then and there, was to shock the wits out of her. So he swooped in and rather callously caught her face between his hands. “Risk then, maiden,” he murmured gently, bringing their faces close together. Warm, moist breath spilled past her lips, “I am more than willing to make my demands.” Her lower lip quivered, eyes going wide and round.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially done with exams until I have to apply for a MA program. But since that's still a bit off, I get to enjoy a few days of rest and what better way to celebrate than to smug-post chapters. lol


	7. Snarls And Tangles

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna had not expected her brother would move quite so fast. Certainly he’d promised she would have the misfortune of being dangled like a piece of sweetmeat before the eyes of Lord Lannister, but Lyanna had been hoping the man would stall or find some way to avoid it altogether. How was she supposed to concentrate on him when her lips still tingled unbearably? She almost scowled. Instead, a small smile bloomed upon her lips, forced by circumstances. “My lord,” she greeted, making her bows with diligence.

“Lady Lyanna.” His acknowledgement was joined by a long searching glance. If he was trying to get her to swoon, he had another thing coming. She’s just been kissed, and quite indecently at that, behind a row of dusty books. There was naught short of proposing marriage that would fray her nerves at that point. “Much obliged to your brother for acquiescing to an introduction.”

She would be much obliged to him if he suggested they part ways then and there. “My brother always has been an admirable sort,” she answered smartly, earning herself a frown from her good-sister. Ignoring that, she simply turned her smile upon Jaime Lannister and questioned, “Have you been long is King’s Landing, my lord?”

“Just these last few days,” he offered, somewhat stilted. Whether his discomfort had to do with her or with their audience, she could not tell. “I was sorry to have missed you at the King’s table.” She was sorry he had come at all. Lyanna could have done with him missing her a little while longer.

“One cannot fault a son for being dutiful,” she found herself answering. “I’d heard Her Majesty had a bit of a bad spell. It is admirable to forego entertainment for one’s loved ones.” Her smile had somehow slipped as she spoke, leaving her barefaced in the face of fierce scrutiny. “Is she better now?”

“Very much so,” Jaime allowed, green eyes widening slightly. “Rumours do spread fast around these parts.” She nodded her head, there was naught to say to that. The lion shifted in his seat and looked towards the thin lancet with undisguised longing. If he dreamt of gaining wings and flying off, Lyanna was all for it. Even without the wings. She shook the unkind thought away when the young man turned to face her. “Would it be too forward to ask for a stroll?”

Slanting a look towards her good-sister, Lyanna attempted to gauge the probability of the request being granted. By the look on Elia’s face, their guest could have asked to lie abed with Lyanna and she would not have refused. Deflating at the obvious approval, Lyanna gave her answer in as cheery a voice as she could muster, “I daresay a stroll would be most welcome.”

He looked relieved. Lyanna stood to her feet and dusted off invisible lint from her skirts. Once Jaime offered his arm, she took that and looked expectantly towards Elia. But the woman kept her seat. Out of all the dalliances she should encourage, this was the one Lyanna did not particularly wish for. Nonetheless, she followed the lord of the Rock, her gait springy for the benefit of whoever happened to be out and about, watching in search of gossip.

She had not expected that there should be quite so many eyes, however, Lyanna told herself, as she and the lord stepped into the hallway and already attracted the eyes of a few other guests. If Lord Lannister found it disconcerting, he showed no sign of it. Jaime leaned in slightly and whispered, “Do forgive my daring, Lady Lyanna, but I cannot abide such a close watch.” Neither could she, truth be told, and she was glad to be away from her kin for a few moments. Precious moments needed to compose herself. “I promise not to impose for long.”

“Not at all, my lord, you are not imposing.” She looked about the hallway. He looked down at her, a spark in those green eyes. There was a mesmerising effect to his stare. Lyanna wondered if he was doing it intentionally, an attempt to charm might be. Unbeknownst to her, lips curved in a smile.      

She caught sight of blaming locks then and her eyes landed on Rhaegar’s sister. She was holding something to her chest and having noticed them stopped and stared. There were no words, for Lyanna could hardly bring herself to say something. But she nodded her head nonetheless and the redhead nodded back. Jaime was less taken with the whole process, preferring to continue on his way, inevitably dragging Lyanna after him.

He brought them without, into the populated gardens and promptly took one of the narrower roads. Instinctively, Lyanna began mounting her walls, her steps growing weary. He might have sensed the chance for he stopped and let go. His eyes performed a quick perusal of her person. “If I were to ask you a question, could you answer honestly?”

The very first reaction which came to her was to huff in indignation and narrow her eyes in a blistering glare. “What made you believe I have been dishonest up to this point?” She’d kept her voice deliberately tight. The lord shrugged. She had not been honest, not entirely, but even so, she’d not outright lied about matters of great import. Clearing her throat, Lyanna continued, “Ask your question, if you so will.” It occurred to her that he did not doubt her willingness to be honest, but her capacity for it. It was a strange thing for one to doubt. That brought her annoyance down a tad. “Do ask.”

“Equal parts contempt and benevolence,” he murmured tartly. “I suspect you already know of the negotiations between our houses.” He waited upon her nod. “If you want Casterly Rock, my lady, I would have something of equal worth in exchange. How great is the might of House Stark?”

“In the North, unimaginable,” she answered after due consideration. “Here, I would hesitate to give impression either of weakness or of power.” Lyanna looked him in the eyes, “And I’ve no desire for the Rock. My family wishes it, certainly, but if we are to be frank, and I trust you shan’t take this amiss, the Rock is secondary to its master.”

“Come, my lady, the Rock is my only bargain chip. You could at least show some consideration.” She could not tell whether he meant to tease her. “I’ve heard the Baratheons are involved as well.” He gestured towards a bench.

Lyanna took a seat and made a thoughtful sound. “I cannot in good conscience reveal your rivals to you. Why would you need the strength of House Stark?” His expression grew cold. “Is that something I ought not to ask?”

“Might be later, my lady. If I deem you sincere.” He smiled though, so Lyanna supposed she should not take offence. After all, she trusted him as little as he trusted her.

Patting the space available next to her, she allowed that he might come closer. “Did you know I have three brothers, my lord?” He sat down just as she asked the question. “I find that so very strange. My family boasts three sons and a daughter. You have two brothers and a sister yourself.”

“Astute observation,” the man voiced after a moment of disoriented meandering. “And what am I to make of this strange coincidence? Might be that fate has had a hand in this?” He was testing her patience. Dispassionately, clinically even, like a maester might cut at flesh, he jabbed at her endurance. At least he was not dull.

“How presumptuous of you to think I might hold such answers, my lord.” Well, she would not indulge him, Lyanna decided in the next moment. “I was merely pointing it out.” He gave a short, almost apologetic nod.

“Your brothers taught you well,” Jaime said at long last, shoulders relaxing. How much he looked the child when he did that. And in a sense, he was still that. Only one year her senior. His eyes lingered on her face.

“The best lessons are stolen lessons. My brothers can be very helpful, just as long as they do not know what they are helping with.” She had a feeling that the smile he sported might be in response to her own. “Let us find some common ground, my lord.”

“Were we on opposing camps up to this point? I’d not realised.” At least he had kept his composure. Lyanna knew she ought to be glad his temper was naught like Brandon’s or she’d find herself flayed. “Have you aught in mind?”

“Let us for now indulge the expectations of our betters, for I’ve yet to be given an ultimatum. In the meantime, we can search for a solution to agree with all of us.” A truce by any other name. And one that seemed to have taken him by surprise. “I like weighing my options,” she explained, “and individuals of good sense will have the same opportunity from me.”

“How would you know I have any good sense?” She shrugged at the question. “A risk taker too. You are full of surprises, my lady.” And with that her mind was thrown back in time, not by much, a few hours, in a dusty library and other risks she had taken that day. Heat scalded her cheeks. But her companion either did not notice or did not care. “Let us say we agree, what should happen when you are given an ultimatum?”

“That is might be the easiest of all.” Still, she offered him no true answer. Lyanna sensed that he had grabbed onto the olive branch and would not deliver a blow when the alliance was yet tenuous. Best to wait for Robert Baratheon as well before she came to a conclusion.

“So easy that you’ve no answer at the ready.” The Lannister lord stood to his feet. “Will your good-sister be expecting me to bring you back?” Naturally he knew she would. But Lyanna shook her head anyway. The man wanted some time on his own by the way his eyes darted about. It cost her little to allow it.

He nodded and she had the feeling that this time he meant by it that he was grateful. Lyanna did not ask and he did not offer. Soon enough he’d walked away from the bench and left her to her own thoughts. Thoughts which turned with patented obstinacy to Rhaegar and the knee jerking reaction she had, quite unwisely, been unable to deflect.

Kisses were perfectly natural and she had received a few during her lifetime. Cheeks and hands and such nonsense. And once on the lips which had resulted in a broken nose for the daring poor fellow. In her defence, Brandon was close by and she suspected if he caught sight of it, she’d be dragged before a weirwood tree. What a fright that had been. Still, by such standards she was not even certain that what the merchant had given her was a kiss at all. It had definitely taken more than the odd moment of a meeting of lips and had felt far more intimate. Her heart raced even now as she thought of it. Unconsciously, her fingers gripped tightly at the thick material of her skirts, crumpling the lovely pattern under a firm grip. Granted, the fact that he’d pulled her towards him as his lips had moved against hers had not helped any.

Even so, to be completely and utterly unable of protest had taken her by surprise. And she had panicked. She had panicked even more when he’d pulled back to her eternal shame. Well, might be not shame, but consternation. And he had looked at her as if he knew what she was thinking. When even Lyanna was not quite certain what she was thinking. His palm had brushed softly against her cheek, thumb dragging across the corner of her lips and she’d just stood there shivering, like a complete dolt.

It was the look in his eyes that had made her weary though. Not of him per se, but the intensity of such a stare when combined with a shuttered expression left her ill at ease. She was an open book and he an impenetrable fortress. And that was not fair. At all. Rhaegar had pulled away after, the only sign that he was somehow affected a slight imbalance in his first step. He looked as if he wished to say something, but he did naught other than gaze at her for a few silent moments.

Then, most unexpectedly, he’d wound an arm around her middle and pulled her into his side with the same ease one would manipulate a ragdoll. Boneless and mindless too, she had lamented silently. It was only at that point that she realised his breathing was laboured. For some odd reason, her heart slowed at that, a strange heat passing over her. They’d gone too far, the thought occurred to her, as she touched her hand to his arm. He had murmured something which she’d not caught but her body seemed to know well enough not to move.

And in the end he had let her go without any further incidents. Why she should find herself in a pique at that after, Lyanna could not fathom. Instead she had inched away from him and he’d not attempted to stop her, nor convince her of his relative safety. Lyanna very much doubted he would have had any luck had he tried.

“You should go,” he’d said in a completely flat voice. It was the oddest thing. As if he had any reason to be annoyed at her.

Eyes narrowing, she had given him a defiant look, crossing her arms over her chest. They both heard a creak. Lyanna winced. Someone had entered the library. “I did not do anything wrong,” she whispered heatedly nonetheless, throwing caution to the wind.

“Nay,” he agreed after a pained moment, “but I might, this instant, if you do not leave.” His eyes darted to the side. “For pity’s sake, girl. Go.” It was the way he said the words more than the words themselves which forced her into a hasty retreat. And might be her own mind coming up with all sorts of possibilities. Like for instance the fact that she was considering not going, in effects handing him the victory and robbing herself of any choice.

That was no way to deal with a situation. She needed a clear head and that meant she could not be in his presence. So she had gone and now she sat in the gardens, not entirely certain what it was that she wanted. The situation might have amused her, had it not been hears to bear.

A gust of wind passed by, tugging gently at her skirts. She looked down and unclenched her fingers. What a sight she must have provided for any passerby. Time to put an end to that.

She stood and started. It seemed this was her day of living through one surprise after another until her heart gave in and burst. “Ser,” she greeted the approaching figures. Lyanna wondered if she ought to be expecting some sort of battle. But the knight recognised her as well and the woman on his arm looked between the two of them with a vague air of curiosity.

“My lady,” he answered, turning to face the other woman. “This is Brandon Stark’s sister,” he explained to her. Then to Lyanna, “Allow me to introduce to you my sister, Ashara.” Good gods, what was it with men and their sisters? She curtsied and smiled.

“I am very glad to have finally met you. My brother had only praise.” That again. Lyanna cast him a glance, but the knight was careful not to give aught away. “’Tis not everyday a lady of rank chooses to fight.” But it was every day that people made such assumptions.

“I would say there is not much choice involved,” she mused by way of reply. “Your brother is too kind to me.”

Ashara laughed, her slightly deep, smooth voice soothing. “Such is my brother.” She disengaged from him and looped her arm through Lyanna’s. “What brings you out on such a fine day?” It was not nearly such fine a day as the wind had picked up and the clouds were rolling in, but Lyanna would not have had a pertinent answer she wished to share even on a beautiful day. She shrugged and matched her pace with Ashara’s.

“I could ask the same,” she said at long last, eyeing the sole man who had placed himself beside his sister. She looked away, straight ahead, wondering if the show on interest had more to do with the knight than his sister.

“It is nice to be free of one’s duties every now and again,” the woman said carefully. “You are not long arrived here, thus you might now yet know, but I serve the Queen.” And since the Queen was apparently sickly for the most part, Lyanna did not wonder at the desire to escape.

“I see.” Partly, at any rate. Lyanna searched for an appropriate topic. “Have you held the position long?”

“Enough for it to warrant a visit from my brother.” The siblings shared a glance and a smile. In a way, they were very much like her and Benjen. “And you, my lady, do you plan to remain here long?”

“As long as it’ll please my brother to have me here at any rate,” Lyanna sighed. If it were up to her, she would not stay longer than it took to find some semblance of security regarding her future. If it was not too much to ask for.

“I suppose that is to be expected.” Lyanna nodded absently. “You have another brother with you, nay?”

“Indeed, two of my three brothers are here with me.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brandon was uncertain whether he was supposed to laugh at the King’s jest or bite his tongue in fury at the King’s command. It all depended upon what the man had meant with his words. “Your Majesty, House Stark will serve in whichever way we can.” He paused and looked from the man to his Spider. “But my sister in young, and she–“ He’d been about to excuse her lack of knowledge and claim her an innocent in all such matters, hoping the King might take pity.

But the man was determined. “Nonsense. She needs very little to be able to sit there and make some conversation.” A slight, cutting grin spread on Aerys’ lips. “You must understand, ser, that if you are to gain the Crown’s favour, you must prove yourself. And in this instance, it seems your sister is the answer to our dilemma.”

When he found Lyanna, he would wring her neck, Brandon decided. He would then dump her body somewhere in some hidden hole and leave her to the worms. Out of all the irresponsible things to do, she just had to choose the worst. “To place one’s hopes on the whims of a girl seems to me an unwise move, Your Majesty.”

“Women are fickle creatures no matter their age,” Aerys conceded. He leaned in slightly and his mien gained a thoughtful quality. “But in this instance it matters not. I am counting nature of man to counter for whatever flightiness you may see in your sister’s countenance.” He resumed his earlier position. “We do not ask, you understand, that your sister be pushed into shameful acts. A show of amiability is more than enough.”

As if that would provide any consolation when her value on the marriage market was gone. “Your Majesty, my sister was to wed. Surely she cannot be seen as doling out her affections with no discrimination.” What had possessed the man to think Lyanna might be able to be of use? The girl could barely see to entertaining her suitors, let alone convincing a man to risk aught for her. Good gods, this was worse than he’d imagined. Had the merchant approached the King? Brandon would break him.

“And wed she shall. My Queen has a son about your sister’s age and I’ve heard ‘tis not a far thing. I do not presume to take this service without offering reward.

“Might be,” the Spider cut in, soft hands coming together in what Brandon imagined to be a moist clasp, “our good ser needs to think the matter over. By all means, ser, do so. We do not expect an answer forthwith. Consult upon the matter with those whose council you deem fit.” A temporary reprieve. Brandon nodded his head, taking it for his dismissal.

They let him go, but he well suspected he had no choice but to agree to the demand. Lyanna was compromised whatever he did. As matters stood, one had to consider which form of tragedy would bring less misfortune upon their name.

It seemed to him the most natural of things to find Elia in her bedchamber, working on a piece of embroidery. She looked up as he entered and offered a smile. When he did not reciprocate, she put away her hoop and needles. “Husband, what a peculiar look you have on your face.”

“Where is Lyanna?” She blinked slowly at his question. “Tell me she is not with him?”

“Him?” Elia echoed, eyes narrowing slightly. “The merchant, you mean? Nay. I allowed her to walk with Lord Lannister. I thought–“ she stopped there and stood for him, walking until they were a hairsbreadth apart. “What has happened?”

“The King,” he said and then nothing at all. Brandon was all the gladder for Elia’s support when she wrapped her arms around him and made a soft humming sound. ”The King is a thorn one has to endure. Although I find it harder and harder still with his demands.”

“It cannot be that horrifying,” she murmured, pulling away. “The King makes demands of all his courtiers. It was so even when I was a girl. What was it that he had in mind this time?” Her calm almost restored his. For all that, the thought of Lyanna caught as she was with no chance of escape robbed him of its completion. When he failed to supply the information, his lady wife turned to guessing. “Does he wish to wed her to a man of his choosing? Nay, that cannot be it. It has to do with the merchant?” He barely managed to nod. “Well then, ser, I say you leave him to it.”

He gaped at her but she only shrugged. “He would turn my sister into a–“ The word stuck to the back of his throat, refusing to come out on account of a wounded pride and bruised ego. “Father sent her here expressly with the wish that she would further our interests.”

“And our interests are tied to the Crown. Brandon, I am not saying we allow anything untoward. If the King has the right of it and the merchant has some interest in your sister, I say we use that out advantage.” He stared. She elaborated. “A man is never as happy as when he has rivals. They will boast and make promises and we shall be there to hear each and every one of them.”

“A good plan in theory. But you know Lyanna. She would not suffer any of it.” His wife did not look at all certain. “Unless you know something I do not.”

“Your sister is young and impressionable. This is her first time at court. Trust me when I say, she will seek to fit in. And if that should mean entertaining suitors, all the better for us, ash she shan’t wish to disappoint.” Brandon would likely never understand how his wife’s mind worked. That was both terrifying and a blessing. He much doubted her thought process would put him at ease any. “Brandon?”

“Aye.” Elia breath hitched. She repeated his name and swatted gently at his arm in protest, a half-hearted attempt if ever he’d seen one. “Is there aught you wish to say to me?” All this talk of his sister and her misfortunes, done unto herself with her own two hands, was leading nowhere. Nowhere he wished to be at the moment, at any rate.

“I could speak to Her Majesty,” his wife attempted to steer them clear of trouble, “might be we can arrange for Lyanna to keep company with her daughter permanently. That ought to keep her safe.” The idea was agreeable on the one hand. No man, not even the impudent Essosi merchant would dare reach that far. On the other hand, Brandon had heard enough of Cersei Lannister to know there was a different sort of danger to the girl.

“Leave it at that for now, beloved,” he murmured. “We shall look further into the matter on the morrow. For now, I trust my sister sleeps.” Were anything to happen, Benjen’s chamber was close enough for it to be plenty of warning in advance.

“Stop that. I can’t think–“ she stuttered over a few choice words at his insistence. “Fine. See if I try to help you again.” The lack of heat behind the words coupled with the gradual mellowing of her resistance was a sure sign of what would follow. Congratulating himself for a card well played, Brandon drew back to look down into Elia’s face. She pursed her lips. “You men,” his wife chided softly.

“I cannot speak for any man but myself,” he chuckled, “but I do find your daring most enthralling.” Among other equally enthralling thing, like the way she was pressed against him at the moment.”You work up a very fine temper.”

“And you enjoy stoking the fire,” Elia accused, throwing her arms around his neck. “If I did not love you as I do, I imagine I’d be crawling up the walls. You are a very trying man.” Still no bite. Brandon picked her off of the ground and deposited her on the edge of the bed.

“What a fine thing to say to your husband,” he mock-sparred her. “One day, you might touch a nerve, and then we shall see how trying I can be.” She chortled and slapped at his hand when it rested upon her knee.        

“Nay, Brandon.” Her refusal was met with a moment of disconcert. “I do not think I shall.” She leaned in and grabbed a handful of his tunic. “But I will be in a fine temper if you continue as you are.”

Giving her an innocent look, he shrugged. “What is your meaning?” She tugged on him, half pulling him to cover her frame.

“Must I spell it out?” Her laughter tickled his ear.

“If you believe you must,” Brandon allowed, shifting into a more comfortable position.

”It would serve you if I were to go to sleep this instant,” she murmured.

“But beloved, the moon is barely even risen.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shaena gave him a long look. “You were expecting it.” The slight questioning tone earned her a glare. “Surely you were. If it helps any, the flames do not approve either.” He almost could not stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Shaena, it does not matter to me what your god says.” He raised his cup of wine her way. “The only thing I wish for right now if to drink in peace. Do you think you could give me some peace?” She scowled at him and shook her head. “Good gods, why not?”

“You are not listening to me,” she said. “I am trying to tell you something.” Which likely would mean that either he endured her blathering on or get drunk enough to not hear a thing. Both options were equally undesirable. His tongue pushed against the back of his teeth. “I am trying to tell you that despite thinking you know best, you do not know best.”

“Then enlighten me,” Rhaegar snapped, gulping down the rest of his wine. Suddenly, oblivion sounded like a tremendous idea. Anything to get his sister off his back. Anything to get a damned minute of peace. His temples were pounding. He doubted the force could be matched by any blacksmith and his anvil. Hand moving for the wine bottle, he was twice stricken with ill-fortune. Shaena held it up and out of reach. “Give me that.”

“I shall, if you promise to listen.” She gave him a sweet smile. He offered a weak nod. Shaena hesitated just a moment before handing the artefact over. “If you get discouraged now, you stand to lose so much. Aye, she must honour her family’s wishes, but there are ways of satisfying them and our own.”

“I will not squander money on a petty position at this court,” he muttered between gritted teeth. An answer which his sister chose to ignore. One of these days, they would find her floating in a fountain. And in truth, the position had little to do with it anyway. What mattered was what the lady thought. And she was obviously undecided, which probably meant the answer would end up being in the negative. “Why are you so insistent?”

“Why are you so obstinate? Just because she cannot put up as clear a rejection of suitors as you’d like, it does not mean she isn’t trying. And if you would only listen, I could tell you that I’ve heard her speak to Lord Lannister.” So fast did he turn that his headache swung in full force. Rhaegar winced. Shaena choked back her laughter. “If you truly are serious, then you had best let her know, because she is doing everything she can.”

He supposed that ought to put him in a better mood. But for all that, he could not muster more than a weak smile for his sister. Shaena took the wine from him once more. “A walk to clear your head would be just the thing now.” And as much as he wanted to argue, he could not.

A walk would help clear his mind if not his heart. As for his guilty conscience, that would have to wait. He climbed to his feet without so much as a moment of unsteadiness. His sister was duly impressed, he could tell. “I’m not drunk,” he let her know.

“Nay, of course not,” she agreed after a prolonged moment of silence.

“Shaena,” Rhaegar warned, taking a few steps towards her.

“I know you are not,” she picked up. “I have seen you drunk, if you’ll recall.” So she had. He narrowed his eyes at her; the image had been slightly unfocused before. “If anything, I should think you are but a step beyond tipsy.” His sister and her good intentions; he would be flattered if he did not still wish to wring her neck. “Will you go or should I aid you?”

The very mention of her aiding him had him near the door, hand on the handle. The last time she’d tried to help him with anything was still seared in the back of his mind and he did not think the King would appreciate any manner of fire raging in his keep. “I will return shortly. Do I need to remind you to behave?” She shook her head and waved him off.

And out he went, thoughts trailing after him, disoriented and disjointed. Some swore by the benefits of a bottle of wine. He was coming to believe, however, that being drunk, or slightly tipsy as his sister had put it, would not help him any. In fact, it only seemed to bring him more out of balance. The wine he’d been given tasted sweet. Almost as sweet as another something he’d had the fortune of sampling recently. But it bore no comparison. Nay, Lyanna was not wine; she was poison. She had to be. Only poison could act so fast.

And he had been and continued to be a willing victim. He had thought about her words. He had considered trying to work something out, and he might have gone on to it, had the memory of how she’d acted towards him after not lingered so strikingly against his own desire. He had seen the fright in her eyes. He could not get past that; there was no surpassing it. And he would never force his attention upon an unwilling partner. He’d not meant to frighten her either, but some sort of madness seemed to descend upon him as soon as their lips were joined. It was almost like being a young boy with his first woman. He blamed the matter of poor blood circulation and whatever strange allure Lyanna held over him. No man should have to lose his head over a kiss.

He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to chase the foggy thoughts away. All that managed to earn him was a vision of Lyanna, soft light streaming from the lancets above over them, particles of dust dancing around her face.

When he opened his eyes, another vision awaited him. This one was slightly more substantial and a lot more devastating. Lyanna peeked at him from around a corner, holding a finger to her lips. On instinct, he grew taut, the first sight of danger arrived.

“What are you going here?” he questioned. In the middle of the night too. Did she have no conscience? Was shed trying to drive him mad? She wagged her finger at him and then held it to her lips once more. Afterwards she beckoned him over. Might be he was drunker than he’d thought. The right thing to do was turn away and hie himself back to his bedchamber, lock the door and sleep his wine excess off. But Rhaegar was loath to break tradition concerning Lyanna at this point. So he trudged on, following her retreating form.

Around the corner, the maiden stood, a little ways behind her, her youngest brother kept guard. at least she was not stupid enough to make the trip on her own. “Have you gone mad?” he demanded without waiting for her to speak.

She opened her mouth then snapped it shut, no answer forthcoming. He looked back at her brother, then towards him. “Perhaps. How does one know when one is mad?” Flabbergasted, he gaped at her. “My state of sanity or lack thereof is not why I came here. I must speak to you.”

He was going to the fiery pits of hell, he considered even as his mind worked a less than loose interpretation of her words. “Whatever it is, it can wait until morning,” he assured her, and himself. “Take your brother and leave.”

“Once you’ve listened to me,” she promised, her shawl slipping from one shoulder. Thank the gods she’d come in her day attire. He did not think his poor brain could possibly help him had she done otherwise. An unnecessary and torturous fantasy of her in her sleepwear caused him to gulp. She was speaking again. “Have you made up your mind?” He could do little but stare dumbly at her. “Good gods, never tell me you need more incentive.”

Understanding dawned upon him. His eyes grew wide. Still, he remained a mute, not knowing what to say. Lyanna seemed to take that for m his answer because she turned around and waved her brother away. The young man looked from one to the other then mouthed something. Obviously Lyanna understood him because she turned around. “He’ll not be gone long.” Rhaegar wished he was not gone at all, especially when Lyanna drew in closer. She caught him by the arm and tugged, hard. “I did not put up such a fuss,” she reminded him almost innocently, hands moving to cup his face.

He was going to deny her, find her brother and send her back to her bedchamber. Only his traitorous body did the exact opposite. And then her lips were on his, tentatively moving, the awkwardness still as sweet. All too soon she pulled back.

“Your answer,” she demanded, breathless.

For a response, he leaned in and fused his lips to hers. There it was to hoping her brother would not return too soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Rivalling Shadows

 

 

 

 

 

 

He caught her between himself and the wall, fingers working on untying her braid and shaking the hair loose, to curl around the strands. Lyanna made a soft sound that might have been a protest or an encouragement. Rhaegar was not about to stop and find out. If she’d not wanted his attention, she should have stayed abed. The thought, of Lyanna abed, only added fuel to the fire. One of her hands snaked up to his shoulder, gripping at his tunic tightly. Whether she was anchoring himself or herself, the result was all the same; her body was practically melting into his.

Unfortunately, no matter how much he would have enjoyed remaining with his lips glued to hers, his lungs were screaming for air. So Rhaegar pulled back slightly and took a breath, eyeing Lyanna whose eyes were still closed. He determinately refused to look about the corridor for fear that her brother had returned. His fingers were still tangled in her hair and he’d actually brought them very near the wall. “I might be madder than you are.” He had thought it and his mouth had actually moved to say it before he could stop that. Lyanna opened her eyes and glanced at him questioningly. He chuckled. “Is that agreement of ours quite sealed?”

Lyanna closed her eyes once more and moved her head almost imperceptibly. Then she shook it. “It is not yet clear to me what your answer is. Could you be a bit clearer?” Eyes opening, she brought her other arm around his neck and pulled herself up, as if waiting for him to meet her halfway. The smart thing would be to disengage. So Rhaegar shooed the smart thoughts away and took her lips again, this time pushing matters a bit further, if only to drive himself permanently off the ledge of sanity. He let go enough to hoist her up, pinning her against the wall.

He swiped his tongue over her lower lip lightly. She jolted and made a humming noise, frail and dragging, then pulled her head back. “Can you do that again?” When he offered no reply, rather too caught up in trying to compose himself, she pouted lightly. “Just once?”

Rhaegar almost laughed. He settled on a chocked noise of disbelief for her sake. “Just once is not enough.” She blinked rapidly, confusion permeating her façade. “Let me show you.” There was a question somewhere in there to which she nodded eagerly. In a move mirroring their earlier encounter, he brushed his thumb across her lower lip, her lips parted slightly. Lowering his head, he gently stroked his lips to hers in a feather-light touch. She tried to turn it into a more solid thing, but he simply pulled away, resuming his work after she’d settled. Gradually, he lengthened the pressure and the tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lip. Lyanna’s excitement with the progress translated into a timely hitch of her breath, followed by a parting of lips which Rhaegar unthinkingly took advantage of.

To be sure, kissing Lyanna was an effort he was more than willing to put forth, but he could .for that recognise the process took a lot of willpower to remain at least semi-innocent. There was little chance of that though, when Lyanna arched against him, her own tongue tentatively gliding against his. The electrifying jolt of her touch was more than enough to render his mind useless. Or might be that was the wine. He should have let her go then. Instead, he settled more comfortably against her, fairly certain she was too caught up in her experience to mind.

Continuing to indulge her explorations, Rhaegar considered going back on his word. Not so much to rid himself of her, but because he might convince her to seal their agreement more permanently. The manner of permanent which would require finding a priest or some such figure afterwards. The thought tempted him for a few moments, his imagination inflamed, pouring out the wickedest things. It was at that point that Rhaegar knew they would soon be crossing a line of no return.

So despite rather having his head chopped off, he dragged his mouth away from hers. Lyanna moaned in protest, trying to follow his retreat, but he simply remained out of reach and allowed her to slide to the ground. Admittedly, she slid against him, for his own benefit.

“Why did you stop?” she whispered, having not yet found her voice. One hand came to rest upon her chest, not quite over her heart. He watched the rise and fall, the hypnotic quality holding his arrested. “I did not want you to.” He hadn’t either, but her admission brought a victorious smile upon his lips.

Alas, for his piece of mind, she should leave such compliments for those moments in which he was able to think clearly. Holding one hand out, he waited for her to reciprocate. “I have my limits, maiden. And if you wish to keep the moniker, you’d best mind them.”

Understanding dawned upon her face. “Were you,” she trailed off, seemingly unsure of how to put the question to him. “Would you have truly? Been unable to stop?” She was going to be a delight between the sheets, he decided. There was too much curiosity to her for it to be otherwise. “Are you going to be alright?”

That caught him. Rhaegar could only stare at her, wondering if he should prey on her apparent willingness to help. Would he be alright indeed. “I will be fine, maiden.” He pointed to something to the side as the shadows moved. “Your brother has returned to collect you.”

He would likely have an uneasy rest, but other than that, he would be more than fine. He fully expected that Lyanna would go along and disappear into the darkness with her newly returned sibling. But she, creature of the impulse, did the opposite. The maiden took hold of one of his hands and declared, quite without knowing what her words were doing to him, the following, “I do not want to go.” Her expectant stare gave him a brief moment of panic. He supposed her innocent in so much that he suspected she would take pity and not tease him into an early grace had she known. As matters stood, he was left with no alternative but to shake his head.

“You have to.” His voice must have been awfully quiet for she leaned in even as her brother approached. Benjen stopped a small distance away and threw him a sharp stare. But his sister was nowhere near ready to give up the fight.

Which likely explained Benjen cutting in to drag her away himself. “Say goodnight, Lya,” he told his sister with a light shake of the head.

She complied, in the end, with no great enthusiasm, murmuring the words under her breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ned had a bad feeling about the whole matter. He looked towards his long-time companion, a man he considered his brother, and suppressed a sigh. “What are you thinking?” Robert answered with a distracted sound and a dismissive wave of the hand. “Truly, what are you thinking.”

Lord Baratheon’s heir turned his gaze upon him. “That I should like it more than aught else if Stannis were here in my stead. I do not mean to cause offence, but, Seven help me, this is all too much. ” Ned couldn’t really fault the man. After all, he was more than aware of the vicious arguments between father and son that had led to it. “Is she likely to refuse? Tell me truthfully.”

Robert had heard much of Lyanna. Most of it from Ned himself. All that amounted to domestic encounters of the mischievous kind, highlighting less than demure qualities. It was not as if anyone had set out to forge an alliance by matrimony. Until very recently that was, at the suggestion of a fairly well-meaning Jon Arryn. Or at least Ned chose to believe the man had meant well, because the results were certainly less than ideal.

He’d know his father sought to further the position of House Stark and as such had himself squired for Lord Arryn along with Robert. He’d said little when his older brother was wed to the Dornish Princess and even less when Maester Walys had suggested a Tully match while he visited. But Lyanna and Robert, of all people. They would make one another miserable. And he was quite hopeless at choosing between his friend and his sister.

“She can be counted upon to do as she wills,” he finally managed. As far as Ned knew, Lyanna would rather admit to having been the one who maimed the lovely tapestry in the great hall than wed at father’s command. But it all depended on how the problem had been framed to her. “But I trust my sister to see how suitable a match the two of you are.” Although he was not quite certain. Lyanna had, after a fashion, shown herself to be susceptible to charming countenances.

“You must explain to her,” Robert charged him most solemnly. “She is your own sister. Your words will mean something to her.” Because they usually meant so much. Ned snorted. His friend threw him a hard stare. “If you are my friend–“

“Aye. I’ll tell her,” he interrupted. “Fat lot of good it’ll do you if our parents push for the match, but I will let her know.” And then he would try to avoid getting sucked into whatever scheme his sister came up with. Those usually tended to bring out the worst in Lyanna, namely her stubborn nature and hot-headedness. The gates were before them. Ned could practically hear Robert working himself into quite a state. “You do realise you likely shan’t meet her before supper, aye?” That did not help.

Unable to summon any ounce of sympathy, Ned simply dismounted his horse and left it in the care of good hands as he dusted himself off. Lord Barartheon not having much authority over him, Ned saw himself off before he could bear witness to another conversation between kin. And right he was to do it, for his own kin were having their own heated discussion when he came upon them.

Two of them, as it happened. Lyanna and Benjen started at the sight of him. He looked from sister to brother. “This is certainly a very warm welcome. Why are you hiding?”

“We are not hiding. This is a hallway, Ned,” Benjen succinctly put it, gesturing above his head.

“You are standing at the dark end of the hallway, huddled together.“ The philosophical end of that observation was apparently upon a hard glare from a she-wolf. “It does look as if you are hiding. And if you are hiding, then aught must be amiss. Have you ruined another tapestry?”

“Not a tapestry,” Benjen answered in Lyanna’s stead after an awkward moment of silence. “I’m afraid thread and needle won’t solve this one.” Not that it had solved the other. His sister could if necessary darn garments, but fine embroidery was past her spectacular skills. “Say, Ned, exactly how willing to wed is your friend?”

Even the slightest hint of amusement fled, along with the blood draining from his face. “For my sake, tell me better yet what it is that you’ve ruined, Lya, because I can assure you Robert is about as willing as a flea in soap-water.”

Lyanna relaxed visibly. Benjen shook his head. And Ned remained confused. Taking pity on him, his brother decided to partially clarify. “It’s her good sense that’s been ruined. And the gods know how we’ll cure her.”

“You cannot cure it, Ben. It’s not a disease,” Lyanna cut in. “But you two can aid me. And Robert Baratheon can too if he feels as you say about a prospective union.”

“Will one of you please explain what trouble you’ve managed to find now?” The two nodded in unison. It was unnerving at times how well matched they were in their reactions. Ned held back the urge to heave a sigh. Starks were not meant to have peace.

“He’s the most wonderful man, Ned.” Those words coming out of his sister’s mouth held a terrifying cadence. Lyanna had, more or less, admitted to admiring a man in the sense women admired men. He glanced at Benjen, hoping his brother would tell him it was some sort of mummer’s trick. Benjen shrugged.

“And an Essosi merchant to boot,” the youngest sibling supplied.

Ned considered the notion for a few moments. A merchant for a good-brother. Father would have a conniption. Walys Flowers would probably double the reaction. His own heart was palpitating. “A merchant?”

“My merchant,” Lyanna corrected, seemingly unaffected by his reaction. “But I will need your aid to orchestrate it.”

“Orchestrate what?” he questioned, his mind not quite done wrapping around the fact that Lyanna was truly considering forgoing a match with nobility for a merchant. “Are you with child?”

Stunned into silence, his sister gaped at him. She drew in a sharp breath and her eyes narrowed. “Am I with child?” Fast as a whip, she kicked him across the knee with her foot. “How can you ask something like that?”

“How can you consider wedding a merchant? What will that do to our house?” he replies, without an ounce of mercy.

“Likely as not it would make us rich,” Benjen informed him. At the twin looks of horror he received, the wolfling shrugged. “Lyanna might be too enamoured at the moment to admit she’s considered the point, but there you have it. Father would probably demand an enormous bride price.”

Lyanna offered a terse nod of agreement. “Will you help us or not?”

“Brandon will kill us all.” He blinked owlishly, trying to keep from fidgeting at the thought.

“So that’s an affirmative answer.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna gazed at the Queen. Seated next to her kingly spouse, Joanna was striking in her beauty. Even more striking was the manner in which she held herself far removed from the rest of them, eyes cast to a lancet above as if the sight below might spoil her meal. And speaking of spoiled meals, her brother’s friend seemed one step away from a fit of the vapour. “Are you certain you are well, ser?” she asked for what had to be the tenth time. “You look pale.” And there she’d been thinking it was the maiden’s job to shy and coy.

“I am well,” Robert Baratheon assured her, glancing towards Lord Lannister and his lady sister. The two spoke in hushed tones, seeming oblivious to the world around them. It looked to Lyanna like they were arguing. She waited for Robert to continue.

Understanding at long last that he would not do so, she ventured a tentative beginning. “I am so glad that you have come. I confess to having missed my brother something dreadful. Ned is always such a good conversationalist, one cannot help but miss him once he’s gone.” That was how one lied; blatantly, unabashedly. Robert’s stare turned incredulous. “And he had such interesting things to say of you.”

“He spoke to you?” He sounded, dare Lyanna think it, hopeful. “May I inquire as to what he said?”

“Oh, I shan’t stroke your vanity, ser. Suffice to let you know, we are of a mind. I would, however, make a request.” She passed into his hand a small piece of paper. Thanked be the gods for long tablecloths. “I have always wondered how one wields the war-hammer. I’d be much obliged if you would speak to me on that matter.”

As if he’d just received benediction from the High Septon, the man nodded his head eagerly and began telling her, with much animation, about the wielding of his preferred weapon. Lyanna pasted a smile upon her face and listened with half an ear to him. Might be she should encourage Ned and his friend to see if they could aid Jaime Lannister.

Such passed her meal in the company of Robert Baratheon, to the apparent delight of her brother and his wife. There was something to be said about the disappointment those two would suffer. Lyanna almost felt sorry. And then she recalled the several kisses she’d received and pushed the fragments of guilt away.

At the end of it all, she was escorted back to her bedchamber by Brandon who spent all the way back praising her conduct. “I am very proud of you, Lya. You are a credit to our house.” If only he knew. “When I write to father next, it shall be with the most tremendous news.” Indeed, tremendously shocking, she supplied silently.

“I am to please,” Lyanna answered. “But I confess I am so very tired. Would you mind terribly if I went to my rest now, ser?”

“Not at all. Of course you must rest,” Elia cut in. “Go and lie down. No one shall disturb you.”

Within the safety of her bedchamber, Lyanna allowed herself to slump against the door in fulfilled exhaustion. There was little which gave her better pleasure than success. A face-splitting grin took over as she ambled to the bed, climbing into it with feet not her own. She dropped against the pillow, burying her face into the delicately embroidered cover, triumph still coursing through her. If only she could retain her good fortune a little longer.

Remaining upon the bed, Lyanna drifted into a middling state, not quite asleep and not truly awake. Thus she remained until her door quietly groaned, announcing an arrival. Thinking it to be one of her brothers, Lyanna kept herself still until it closed. Then she raised her head with great speed, enough to make her dizzy. “Did Elia not say not to bother me?”

Except that it was neither brother, nor any manner of kin before her. She stifled a squeal of delight and flew right off the bed. “How did you get in here?” she whispered, suddenly mindful of the danger they were exposing themselves to. It was reckless. It was foolish. It was bone-meltingly exciting. “Did anyone see you?”

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, catching her around the waist to put an end to her progress. “Nay. I’ve not heard from your good-sister. Through the door and of course not, I know better than to be obvious about my intent.” She tried to evade her grip, hands going to his shoulders. “How many suitors exactly do you have?”

“Never mind that,” she brushed away the question, fingers gripping the sturdy material of his garment in an insistent tug. He, however, resisted her attempts, merely holding her at arm’s length. Seeing as she could not succeed, Lyanna huffed in frustration. “What?”

“Your suitors,” he reminded her gently, probing for the information.

“Them? Gods, what does that matter?” She gave him a suspicious look. “Have you been drinking again?” He shook his head, fingers digging into her sides. “There’s only Ser Robert and Lord Jaime as far as I know.”

“As far as you know?” He allowed her closer, at which chance, Lyanna was halfway of her tiptoes before he could continue. “If I am to see you flirt during every mealtime, I should at least like a warning.”

“Flirt?” she echoed, confused. “I was not flirting. We were mumming.” Nodding her head as if to emphasise the point, Lyanna went on, “If Brandon were to suspect anything, we would probably have to elope.” With that he finally helped her up.

“Would it be such a tragedy, eloping with me?” She bushed her lips against his teasingly, not quite delving into a full kiss.

“Not at all, but it should break my good-sister’s heart. She’s been working and working on that dress of mine. It would not be right to disappoint her.” Rhaegar made an approving sound, one hand sliding lower down her back.

She had the strangest desire to tell him she’d missed him. After not seeing him for only a few hours.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
